


Coming Home

by TheLoudGuy



Series: Coming Home [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle, Captivity, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Post-Betrayal, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6995815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoudGuy/pseuds/TheLoudGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthright divergence. As Corrin pushes deeper into Nohrian territory, she is faced with the consequences of choosing her blood family over the family that raised her. Xander is pulled in one direction by his duties as crown prince and another by the demands of his heart. Corrin’s Nohrian siblings fight desperately, first for the life of their sister and then for the soul of the nation.</p><p>A story about what may have happened if the battle against Leo had turned out differently, with a particular focus on the relationships within and between Corrin’s two families. Spoilers for pretty much every path. Heavy undercurrent of Xander/Corrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Battle Changed

"They are drawing closer, my lord." Niles's voice was unworried, even flippant, but the fact that he was speaking at all was a bad sign. He could see the tide of the battle even now, and he wasn't wrong: the Hoshidans were pushing hard up all three lanes, with the Hoshidan princes and Corrin leading the charge up the center, protecting the healers from the Faceless that surrounded them.

"I can see them," Leo said.

"Send us out, m'lord!" Leo closed his eyes, as he found himself doing more often when Odin took on this tone of voice. "None can withstand the eldritch art of Odin Dark, and fewer still the labyrinthine machinations of the Benighted One as backed up by Niles, the one-eyed devil!"

"Show you a one-eyed devil," Niles said under his breath, low enough that Odin couldn't hear it but Leo still could.

"Silence, both of you." The power flowed in this place, and Leo could feel it pooling in the ground as intimately as if it were his own body; he pulled the reins of his horse and it cantered over to the nearest nexus. He drew his strength together and breathed out and sent his power into the earth, and there was a flash and a roar and all along the Hoshidan front more Faceless rose from the ground, corpses given a new and terrible life by Leo's power. He could not control them past that, so his ability as a tactician had relatively little effect on this battle. The Hoshidans were even now scrambling to shore up their defenses, and he could see eruptions of magic near the edge of the battlefield as their rear guard unleashed hell on the Faceless that were supposed to have flanked the main force. Corrin really had gotten better.

"That's not going to do it," Niles said, and now he was tense. "The corpses here are too old and too frail; none of these are a match for the Hoshidans. You could animate all of them simultaneously and it might not be enough."

"He speaks truly, m'lord. Send us where they are harried and we will bring eternal rest to your enemies! Fail to do so, and they might bring eternal rest to us, the invincible and indefatigable."

"I see that silence is too much to ask of you." Leo ground his teeth. "Listen to me, both of you. How well do you trust me?"

Together, at once: "With my life, lord." The weight of their surety made him close his eyes again. He was silent. He breathed deeply. He would not let them see.

"Good. That is as it should be. If that is the case, then you must listen to me. I do not believe the Hoshidans will get this far. If they do, we will fight them together, and we will kill them all. But," and here he raised his hand, and pointed to each of them in turn, "if we engage with them, and you know that we will not win, you are to retreat. You will retreat if it means that you cannot protect me. You will retreat if it means that I have to face the Hoshidans alone. Do you understand?"

"Oh I understand," Niles said, and his voice was a purr like a great cat's when it had found some amusement, some new torment to inflict upon its lessers. "I understand perfectly, my lord, and trust _you_ will understand why I cannot obey."

"Nor shall Odin Dark abandon his dread lord in his hour of greatest need."

" _This is not about my needs!_ " They recoiled as if he had lashed them with a whip. "This is about _Nohr_. Do you understand? This is about a kingdom. I am Nohr's prince, and all loyalty to me must be subservient to loyalty to my land. Do you see the logic? If we engage with them, and you are defeated, you will retreat from this place. You will run and you _will not look back_. You will flee to the capital, and you will warn Camilla of what is coming. You will warn my father. You will warn _Xander_ , and attach yourselves to him either until I return to you or until I am found." He held up Brynhildr, and he could feel the fire in his head, making him giddy, unsure of the words he was using. Who could ever listen to him when he felt like this? But they had to. For Nohr. "Swear here that you will obey me. Swear on Brynhildr, the mother book, holder of the secrets of life and death and the world."

His retainers looked at each other, and he saw their fear for him and he loved them fiercely and he saw the message that passed between them without their voices being raised. They stepped toward him, and they did not bow but they lowered their heads, and they placed their hands on Brynhildr.

"Swear now," he said, "on the kingdom of Nohr, and on the darkness which has nourished us. Swear on your loyalties. Niles, Odin, swear on my life, for if you do not keep this then you will be killing my soul."

"I swear," Niles said, and his voice was a whisper.

"I swear," Odin said, and he might have been weeping but he would not let Leo see him.

"Good," Leo said, and they stepped away from him and Odin still would not look at him but Niles did and his expression was unreadable. "That is good. But it will not come to that. We will win this, together, and we will bring justice to my traitorous sister, and we will have our vengeance on those who took her from us and would see us starve in darkness. Stay with me, and we will be victorious."

They said nothing, but nodded, and stood by him and watched the battle rage.

There was another book in Leo's pack, and he touched its spine carefully as he watched the Hoshidans cut through the reinforcements he had summoned. He had to gather his strength to pull up the next wave, which would take time, and there were only so many places of power remaining. At the rate they were cutting through them, the Hoshidans might reach him before he finished the final summoning, but otherwise they would simply kill all the Faceless and then he and his retainers would be fighting alone. They had grown so bold under Corrin's command that they were charging through the swamp now, fighting even as it drained the life from them.

He could grab hold of victory here, if he summoned one last wave and charged together with his retainers. It would be a suicide charge, they would surely die, but he knew that he could reach Corrin and that would cut the head off of the beast of the Hoshidan force. All he had to do was reach out, call upon Brynhildr, and kill his sister.

Yes, that was all.

The Faceless screamed in some strange analog of pain as they fell, their last breaths escaping them like gusts of wind roaring from caves, and Leo could see how it would all happen. The line of the Faceless would be breached, and the two Hoshidan princes would defeat his retainers, and they would flee. He would face Corrin alone, and even as he thought of that he could feel the pain gnawing at the inside of his guts, his sister's face so near to him, so much anguish wrapped up in someone who he had loved for so long and it was like poison in his mouth, in his mind, he spat on the ground and the feeling did not leave him. She would reach him, and he would kill her or else be defeated. If he was defeated, she would execute him. He wouldn't leave her any choice; his life would be forfeit, and she would run him through and carry the weight of his death all the way to the capital, where Xander would be waiting for his lost sister to come home. Yes, he would kill her, or she would kill him. It was clear.

But then, there was a chance... He could not stop stroking the book, thinking, hoping.

"Be ready," he said to his retainers. "The moment draws near. We will stop them here." That was a lie. "We will—"

Leo was a tactician, and though he would not use the term himself he had been called a prodigy, had even been called _wise_. In his heart he knew how this battle would go, could see every moment of it from the present to its end.

He also knew, in the foundation of his thoughts, more powerful than his heart, that anything could change the course of a battle, that the smallest chance could shift the fate of nations.

There was a roar from behind him, a clattering of hooves, and he looked back and saw the hands of fate descending on massive wings.

"Things have changed," he said to Leo and Niles, who were standing with mouths agape. "I have a new plan. Listen and then carry my commands to our new arrivals, quickly!"

* * *

Hana rushed past and cut through the Faceless from hip to shoulder in a rising slash that saw great gouts of smoke rising from the rift in its torso. She sheathed her sword in one smooth motion, not bothering to look back as it fell with a crash.

"One more that won't be reaching Lady Sakura," she said to herself, feeling very pleased with her performance. She had personally killed more Faceless today than some entire battalions in previous battles, and hadn't received so much as a scratch in return! At first she had been furious when Lady Corrin had ordered her to guard this swamp, and even now the fumes from the muck made her head hurt, but so long as she didn't stand directly in it she had no problem being a one-woman chokepoint protecting an entire flank. She had never felt more vital than at this moment!

There was a sound, then, wings beating against the air. But the pegasus knights were all protecting the _right_ flank, and she was holding the left, which meant—

She looked up, and the wyvern was cutting through the air above her. Not far, not far enough to be out of her reach, and she responded instantly, running with all speed, her sandals barely touching the marsh. There was a tree before her and she grasped hold of her blade and her feet pounded against its massive trunk, and she ran up, one step, three, five, then she turned and she leaped into the path of the wyvern. Her sword sang as she drew it, she held it over her head for a slash that would cut through mount and rider both.

In the heartbeat she spent in the air she saw the rider, a blue-haired girl wearing a dark headband, holding a spear in the swordbreaker stance. Not just a wyvern rider, a wyvern _lord_ , and one that had been anticipating her.

"Got you." The girl said, and her voice was as lifeless and without intonation as leaves on the ground.

The heartbeat ended and Hana screamed her fury and brought down her sword in a fight she couldn't win.

* * *

Rinkah looked up at the sounds of battle in the distance, the scream of a wyvern and someone shouting at a level just below that.

"Hana," she said, and stepped over the bludgeoned corpses of the Faceless, scrambling toward a stone to have a better vantage point. She hauled herself up in one motion, and looked north to where Hana was holding the line, and felt her stomach drop.

A wyvern rider wielding a spear thrust at Hana, who turned the blow aside but took the tip in her shoulder. The wyvern lashed out with its teeth and Hana swung for its eyes and the beast pulled back, hissing, its rider sawing the reins so that it kept retreating, just out of reach of Hana's blade.

"Damnation. Whoever that woman Hana's fighting is, she's a swordbreaker. She's going to get herself killed if she doesn't retreat." As soon as the words left her mouth she knew Hana was going to die without help; Hana wouldn't have backed down from any fight, no matter with whom or how big their advantage was. But if the woman was a swordbreaker and fighting with a spear, then Rinkah had what she needed. She hefted her club up to her shoulder and leaped down from the stone. She would have to run, but she would make it.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?" Rinkah lowered her club into a fighting stance as a woman astride a horse rode slowly out of the gloom. Her hair was as red as Rinkah's mask, and much longer, and the look of haughty surety on her face was so complete that Rinkah felt her blood boil just looking at her. She came to a stop directly in front of Rinkah, cutting off her route to Hana. "If you need someone to play with, I'm _more_ than enough for someone like _you_."

"Girl," she said, grinding her teeth, "if you don't get out of my way then I'm going to break you in half, so let's save our barbs for another time. Give me just a minute and I'll come back, then we can _play_ all you want. How's that sound?"

"Oh, _I_ see," the other woman said, drawing a sword that glinted in the thin light. "I'm supposed to just wait for _her royal highness the bandage queen_ to open up her _very busy schedule_ so she'll have time for me? I don't think so, you knock-off bandit thug. You're not going anywhere unless you can get through me first. And you can't."

Rinkah set her iron club back in her pack, and in its place drew out a club with a studded head on each end. The weight of it was different, the _use_ of it was different, which was enough to throw any swordswoman for a loop. She gripped it in her hand and breathed deep the smell of the woods. She was bleeding from where the Faceless had struck her before, and the feel of the wounds was like fire on her skin, rage and power all at once. She was sinking down onto her haunches, preparing to leap on the other woman and drag her down from her horse, when she saw two shadows flit between the trees out of the corner of her eye.

She rounded on them, club up, and then the horse was before her and the woman's sword came down. "Eyes on me, bandage queen!" Rinkah brought up her club to block but the blade slipped past, cutting her shallowly across the forearm.

"Tsss! Damn it!" She leaped back and away from her adversary, shifting her club to her other hand, and that is when she saw how the other woman was holding her sword and her shield. "Oh, that is _perfect_. You're an axebreaker, aren't you?"

"Right in one. Guess even someone like _you_ can recognize true talent." The other woman tossed her hair lightly, completely unconcerned. "Thought you'd have me with your little toy there, didn't you? Well, sorry to disappoint, but this isn't going to be that easy."

Rinkah did not answer; she screamed, the fire filling her, and charged.

* * *

Something was wrong; Corrin could feel it in the air, without news being relayed by scout troops. They had been moving up slowly, avoiding the swamps where necessary, but now she, Sakura, Takumi, and Ryoma were pushing north, intending to take out Leo as early as possible. She didn't know why Leo wasn't pushing south; he was strong enough to defeat anyone in the Hoshidan force except for Ryoma. Still, his hesitation would be their salvation. She would speak to him, she would make him see, but before that something was pushing in on the edges of the battlefield.

"Hold on a moment," she said, and her siblings came to a stop around her.

"What is it, Corrin? I-is someone nearby?" Sakura tried not to show her fear but this place was new to her, actively hostile in the very air, and even Takumi was starting to let the pressure on him begin to tell.

"No. No one's here yet, I don't think. But something's wrong. Something is... hmmm. I'm not sure." She knew where the wrongness was; to the west and to the northwest, where Hana and Rinkah were beating down the Faceless as they rose. But that didn't make sense; there was nothing present there that should pose a real threat to them, and even if they ran into trouble she had made sure both were equipped with enough healing items to allow them a hasty retreat. So what was it that could be going wrong?

"Whatever feeling you're having, Corrin, you need to trust it." Ryoma was calm, always calm, perfectly in control even in this place. "If you feel the offensive has been compromised, we can pull back until you are more sure."

"What? We can't pull back now!" Takumi's bravado was a shield between himself and his own nervousness, as protective as anything could be. "Those Nohrian bastards are within reach. One more push and we can end this _and_ them!"

"I'm not sure, Takumi, but something is wrong." She pushed the bloodlust he was espousing out of her thoughts, tried to grab onto the calm she knew that Leo would be using to assess the situation from the other side. "I agree that it's premature to pull back now, but we might be better off trying to shore up here until our scouts carry word from Hana and Rinkah."

Ryoma nodded, and with that nod Takumi acquiesced and Sakura sighed in relief. "Fine. We'll form up on you and make sure that Sakura is protected from—" The sound of the arrow plunging into his shoulder was quiet; breaking lacquer, the thud of meat being hit with a hammer. He barely even grunted with the pain. Sakura shrieked in shock, and Takumi nocked an arrow.

"Where is that coming from?" Corrin said, and Ryoma drew his sword to the sound of thunder.

"There," Ryoma said, gesturing to a tree past the clearing. "I cannot see the shooter, but based on the angle and the distance he's in the boughs. He's out of reach of Raijinto's magic."

"He's using a longbow! Takumi, can you-?"

"On it," Takumi said, putting away the Fujin Yumi and drawing out his own longbow. "Give me one second and that shooter won't be a problem anymore."

"My hand," and at this fifth voice Corrin turned, alone, and so she was the only one to see the dark mage emerging from the shadows, fire in his hands, a malefic aura engulfing both him and Takumi, "thirsts for _blood!_ " Fire erupted between the mage and the prince, and Takumi roared in shock and pain and was sent sprawling into the dirt and wet. Sakura shrieked again but through the din she was already summoning up her healing magic, already pouring her light onto Takumi.

Ryoma turned with the Raijinto raised, prepared to cut his brother's attacker down, and then another arrow took him in the bicep. He grunted, lowering his sword, and Corrin dashed past him.

"Stop!" The mage leaped back, just out of range of the Yato, and Corrin came to a defensive stance between him and her siblings. "We don't have to fight like this! I know that I can talk this out with Leo, we just need a chance!"

"A chance is exactly what Odin Dark, scion of the abyss, cannot give you!" The mage flourished dramatically with his hands, and she thought there would be some attack but there was none.

"Scion of the abyss? What on earth does _that_ mean?"

No answer was forthcoming, and if there was she did not hear it: at once she was engulfed in light and crushed to the ground as if her body was coated in iron, strong roots of healthy trees reaching up and grabbing hold of her limbs and twisting, squeezing, with force enough that she could feel her bones creak. She screamed, and heard Ryoma swear as he cut a third arrow out of the air but could not ascribe any meaning to that. The pain of this was enormous, more than she could have imagined, but the light and the roots meant _Leo was on the move_. Why was he on the move? He had been holding back for so long!

Time slipped from her for a moment, she felt her vision fading, and then she shook her head and bit down on her tongue and the pain was sharp and hot in her mouth. The vines and roots were gone, the light was gone, and she pulled herself up to her feet. She faced the mage, and could not muster any surprise to see Leo there, astride his horse, Brynhildr in hand.

"Leo, please. _Please_ , brother, we don't have to fight. We can still end this peacefully."

"No." Leo's voice was distant. Not cold, but distant, as if he was removed from the act of combat. "No, we cannot. You could have, if you retained the upper hand, but you lost that option from the moment Beruka and Selena compromised your left flank for Odin and Niles to slip through."

 _Beruka and Selena?_ She felt cold, then. Suddenly she understood what had been keeping Rinkah and Hana occupied, and why things had felt wrong. Corrin had planned for Leo, for the forces that he had had arrayed in those moments and for all the bodies that he might be able to pull up from the soft places of the earth to fight for him. She hadn't been ready for those two, or for...

" _Run!_ " She turned back to her siblings, waving for them to flee, but it was clear in their eyes that it was too late, in Takumi's stance as he drew taut the Fujin Yumi and Ryoma's as he leveled the Raijinto, even in the determined set of Sakura's jaw. " _We have to run! She's here!_ "

They did not hear the wyvern until it was amidst them, did not see the rider's axe until it smote the firmament. The earth and muck exploded at the point of impact, sending jets of soil and water into the air, and Ryoma and Sakura and Takumi were sent flying but Corrin never saw it, all she could see was the rider, Camilla was looking into her eyes and reaching for her, her big sister looked so _wild_ and _determined_ and the earth rose up in front of Corrin's face and she hit the ground and knew no more.


	2. Krakenburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrin is brought home, and faces the consequences of choosing Hoshido over Nohr.

For a long time Corrin floated beneath the surface of her own thoughts, unaware and unfeeling, not completely unconscious but so swaddled in darkness that she could not pull herself up out of it. She reached up again and again, as far as she could, but something kept dragging her back down, and she was tired, and she slipped into a dreamless state. Awareness was far away, and she needed to rest. She was so tired. Maybe someone would come to wake her up.

Awareness came back to her in a thin line, a single sensation: gravity, inertia, the swaying of her own body as she was moved. Corrin  _felt_ as surely as she had not been able to feel before and that let her latch onto the fact of sensation, this sliver of consciousness. She tried to move, and could only shift in the smallest ways. Nothing there, not yet.

Sound came back to her, and she felt awake when it did. Hard heels tapping against stone, two pairs right by her and more in the distance, moving in and out of range of her awareness. She opened her eyes, and saw nothing. Corrin nearly panicked then, but fought the urge down, shoved it into the abyss where it needed to be, focused on what  _was_ there as her faculties eased back in. She inhaled, realizing she did not smell the mire anymore; she smelled torches, and in the distance she smelled food, and next to her was the familiar scent of someone who had held her while she slept so many times.

"Camilla?" Her voice came out small, barely audible. Corrin turned her head, felt her cheek brush against the fabric of the mantle Camilla wore over her shoulders and throat. She coughed, tried again. "Camilla, is that you?"

"She's awake," Camilla said without turning her head. As soon as she said that, there was a crackle of energy next to her, then an increase in air pressure that made Corrin's ears pop. The sound of the torches and the distant footsteps and voices died away.

"No one will hear us now," Leo said. "But don't stop walking, and try not to be too obvious. They can still  _see_ us, and some might wonder why they can't hear our conversation."

"You don't have to tell me, dear."

Corrin opened her eyes, was met with darkness. She tried to reach up and touch her eyes, but her hands would not move, remaining fixed together in front of her hips.

"I can't see," she said, and she felt her voice rising both in terms of volume and in terms of panic. "I can't move my hands."

"You're blindfolded, darling, and your hands have been bound together and then to your body. Iago insisted on it as a... precaution."

"He wanted you gagged," Leo said, "so that you could not 'poison the air of the capital with Hoshidan propaganda.' I convinced him that this humiliation was unnecessary."

"Leo told the little toad that if he interfered with how the royal siblings would treat their own prisoner, then he would be reduced to a red smear on the castle wall."

" _I'm in Windmire_?"

"Darling, you're in Castle Krakenburg itself. We've brought you home."

If Corrin had had anything in her stomach she might have shamed herself by vomiting. "When? How did I get here?"

"I carried you, dear. Marzia and I swept in among the Hoshidans, grabbed hold of you, and spirited you away."

The words brought back the memory: sound and chaos, an explosion of earth and water, the beating of mighty wings and the bellowing roar of Camilla's wyvern. "Ryoma and the others—"

"They are  _fine_." Leo spoke in clipped words, now. "The family you left us for suffered no casualties that I am aware of. Beruka and Selena both reported that they did not have time to kill their opponents before retreating, and by the time I fled with Niles and Odin the Hoshidan royals were wounded but not in mortal danger. You can rest assured: your  _family_ is not dead unless the swamp consumed them."

"That is enough, Leo," Camilla said, and Leo grunted as if he were going to say something but tapered off into silence. "That's behind us. We've brought Corrin home, and she will stay with us." Camilla shifted Corrin in her arms, hefting her carefully. "We've confiscated your stone and your sword for now, dear, but they will be returned to you in time. When it's determined to be safe for you to have them."

The Yato. Without her sword, Corrin felt more naked and helpless than any other combination of circumstances could have made her feel. It was supposed to be an instrument of fate, it  _chose_ her to be its carrier and the actor of that destiny. Without it, she was more than just defenseless: she was lost. It wasn't proof of her righteousness and never had been, but it was an anchor she had used to try to remind herself that, right or wrong, her decisions had been hers to make and the act of making them was its own kind of virtue.

"Put me down," she said. "I can walk on my own to wherever you're taking me."

"But, darling..."

"Please, Camilla." The tapping of hard heels on stone flooring came to a stop, and so did the swaying motion of being in Camilla's arms. Camilla lowered her until her feet touched the ground, then supported her by the shoulders until she pushed herself up to her feet. Her knees felt shaky, her calves and thighs were like water, but she took one tentative step and did not fall. "It's all right. I can walk, but I might have to go slowly for a few minutes."

"We may not have that opportunity. Camilla, eyes up!" There was another pop, and the sound of torches burning and people gossiping came flooding back. Camilla kept one hand on her left shoulder, but the fingers there had tensed, and if she had closed her grip then she might have broken the bone there. One pair of footsteps in particular was drawing near to them, heavy but dull, a huge person in soft-soled boots.

"Lady Camilla, Lord Leo." Corrin recognized Hans's voice and suddenly wished very desperately that she had the Yato in her hands, or any sword at  all. The man had tried to kill her once already, and that he was here now meant things were as bad as they could be. "I see our prisoner's up and about."

" _Our_ prisoner, Hans?" Camilla's tones were so sweet, practically dripping in congeniality, that Corrin could see the particular smile she was using: eyes closed, head tilted, inviting a response that anyone who knew her would instantly know to keep to themselves. "You must be confused. Sweet little Corrin is  _my_ prisoner, and Leo is helping me escort her. I do not believe you share in this arrangement?"

"That, ah, hrm." Hans coughed. "Yes. I see your prisoner's up and about. Regardless, His Majesty has commanded that the traitor be brought before him immediately." Corrin had to fight down the urge to retch. If she was being brought before Garon himself, then she wouldn't survive the hour. Her adoptive father had ordered Hans to try to kill her, had turned Corrin herself into a suicidal weapon to strike at the heart of Hoshido, and had never been one to shy away from executing prisoners of war.

"That is why we are escorting her," Leo said. "Now that her injuries have been tended to, we are bringing her before our father to seek his judgement. You can see that we are doing so."

"Y...yes, my lord." Then Hans cleared his throat and his feet shuffled, and Corrin could see him spreading his feet to widen his stance, give him greater balance, and she hated him for presenting an image of courage in the face of Leo and Camilla that she could sympathize with. "Be that as it may, His Majesty has commanded that I bring the prisoner to him personally. So I'll be taking her now."

"Oh,  _dear_ ," Camilla said, and she let go of Corrin's shoulder and Corrin listened to the sound of her heels ringing against the stone flooring. "Hans, were you not listening to my little brother just now? We are escorting Corrin this very moment. Do not worry yourself over such trifling matters. Your services are not required."

"Lady Camilla, I have to insist." He was bold now. "By order of the king I will be taking custody of the prisoner, whether you like it or—"

There was a cracking sound so loud that Corrin jumped, nearly fell. As the echo died away she heard something small and wet hit the floor.

"Aaagh! Are you out of your mind? You think you can just strike someone acting on order from—"

The next crack was much louder and sharper. When Camilla spoke, her voice was perfectly even, perfectly neutral.

"Your."

Another crack, another scream, cut off by a choke.

"Services."

A heavier impact, a fist rather than an open hand.

"Are."

A heavier one still, a wet sound beneath it, and someone fell to their knees.

" _Not_."

Bones crunched under a mailed fist, blood flowing in torrents and dripping onto the stone floor.

"Required!" This last was almost a happy chirp, and no impact followed it save the sound of a body hitting the floor listlessly. "Oh dear! Somebody hurry and clean this poor man up before he stains the carpets.  _Now_." Camilla's hand was on her shoulder again and at her gentle push Corrin began to walk down the hallway. "Carefully, darling, but not too slowly. I will not let you trip on anything."

"You shouldn't have done that," Leo said. "Hans is a small, petty man, but he holds grudges and he has our father's favor."

"It will be  _fine_ ," Camilla laughed. "It's not as if I killed him, is it? He may need to replace a few of his  _teeth_ , but if that is his only punishment for speaking so coarsely to a princess of Nohr then I think father will forgive me for disciplining him."  Corrin didn't know if that was true, but she did not hear anyone else around them; Leo had not put up his magic again, which meant that others had seen Camilla's display and were avoiding her to try to duck her wrath. Probably wise of them, and it meant that they were free to talk, which meant that Corrin could feel the enormity and the lethality of her situation. She was trying desperately not to panic, but it was hard.

"You are taking me to my  _death_ ," she said, her voice low because she couldn't raise it.

"Oh, no. Darling,  _no_ , you can't think that."

"Do you think Garon is going to let me live? He sent Hans to kill me at the Bottomless Canyon, and would have let me die in the explosion he set off in the Hoshidan capital. Leo, weren't you given orders to kill me on sight in the swamp?"

"Orders for your death," Leo said, "were predicated on your betrayal. On your choosing your other family over ours, on choosing the land of your birth over the land that raised you. But that never happened, did it? In your heart you were loyal to us all along."

"What?" Corrin was shaking now, fear and frustration coming together into a storm in her chest. "Leo, this is not the time to  _mock_ me."

"It has been suggested," Camilla said, her voice low, "that you were ensorcelled by the Hoshidan mages, your thoughts turned against us by deceptive magic. And so that is what happened: I believe it. Xander believes it. You must believe it too."

"But I wasn't—I can't—you're asking me to lie? To denounce the choices I've made, my loyalties, my family? You're asking me to throw away everything I've done, after all the lives I've taken?"

"We are asking you to live," Leo said. "As a prisoner, perhaps for many years, but we are asking you to live. Do you understand? Everything else is secondary to this. Your thoughts have not been your own since you were captured by Hoshido. You were tortured, forced into servitude, and in every moment you rebelled against their control. That we were able to capture you, that you are here now, that you will submit so completely to Father's mercy, all of it is proof that the story is true and that their hold on your thoughts was never total. Tell this story to our father, Corrin. Please."

"You think Garon is going to let me live? You think that after all the damage I've done, no matter what story I tell, that he won't have me executed on the spot? I won't give up on everything I believe in just to be killed anyway!"

"Enough." Camilla's voice was very soft, and she pulled lightly on Corrin's shoulder so that they all came to a stop. "We're here. Listen to me, my darling: do not betray your principles if you don't think you can. But let us do it for you. We will bear the burden of the story, and we will sell it as best we are able."

Leo was soft too, now: "If you cannot tell the lie, then keep your silence. Keep it no matter what. Keep it as if you do not know what is happening or where you are. We will protect you."

"Leo, Camilla. I don't..." She felt them near to her, and realized she was crying, and the shame was like a caul that would not let her breathe. They were so close, acting to protect her even now, after they had called her traitor, after she had broken their hearts, and she wanted nothing more than to hold her brother and sister. She tried to move her arms, but could not. She did not try speaking again.

"Hush." Camilla put her arms around her, pulling her close in an embrace that was firm, not crushing. Another hand—Leo's—slipped into hers, and held tight there. In spite of everything she felt safe, protected, as she had not felt since leaving the Northern Fortress. She leaned into the embrace, gripped Leo's hand as hard as she could. "It is all right. We are here for you. No matter what happens." Camilla lowered her head and kissed her like she had when Corrin was very small. "Remember we love you."

After a long time Camilla let her go and the doors were opened. They walked into the throne room together.

* * *

Corrin was on her knees, Camilla and Leo standing to either side of her. She did not know who else was in the room; surely not Iago, who would have gloated by now if he had seen her in this state. She did not know why she was focusing on so small a detail as who was there  to witness her execution, but she was, and clung to the act of blindly surveying the room as if it would keep her afloat in a sea of darkness.

"This is not as I had commanded," King Garon said, his voice filling the vastness of the chamber so that he seemed to be speaking from everywhere at once. Corrin knew he was in front of her, up the steps and seated on the throne, but he might as well have been next to her. "Where is Hans? He was supposed to have killed this traitor and returned to me by now."

"Was he?" Camilla sounded confused. "How terrible! To think that he would  _lie_ about such a thing—about an order from his king!"

"Hans informed us that he was to escort Corrin, alive, in your presence." Leo offered no opinion on Hans's deception; that was Camilla's purview, not his.

"I am not concerned with whether or not he saw fit to relay my commands perfectly to those to whom they did not apply!  _Where is he?_ "

"Oh, Father, I'm so sorry. After telling that horrible lie about his orders, he...  _spoke out of turn_ to me. The things he said, I won't repeat." Her tone shifted then, hard and cold. "I'm afraid I had to punish him for it."

"Hans is in the infirmary, Father. He will recuperate." Leo sniffed. "I would have stepped in, but Camilla pointed out that an insult to one of the royal children is an insult to the crown, and so his punishment stood."

"I... see." One could hear the gears in Garon's head turning, possibilities and conjecture whirling all at once. Corrin knew him to be a shrewd man, ruthlessly clever, but she also knew that there was protection for her siblings in the need for appearances. Not much, but apparently enough. "If he did insult you, my daughter, then you acted appropriately in punishing him. You are forgiven your transgression."

"You are ever gracious," Camilla said.

"Gracious," and Corrin bit the inside of her cheeks at the sound of Iago's voice, "but not so forgiving that justice can be left by the wayside. You have the traitor here before you now, Your Majesty! That she remains alive is a greater transgression still!"

"That is so. Leo, I commanded that my former daughter's treasonous actions had earned her a swift and summary execution. Can you explain to me," and Garon's tone suggested that one could not, "why she is still breathing?"

"Lord Father, I have determined—"

"Your Majesty, surely you have grown tired of the conjecture about Corrin not being  _responsible_ for her reprehensible betrayals. Why would you entertain such thoughts from anyone? That Lord Leo would even begin to espouse such drivel, why, it's almost enough to call  _his_ loyalty into question."

The air shifted, the pressure increasing, and Corrin could feel the heat of Leo's magic rolling off of him in waves.

"Iago, if you speak once more to question my loyalty to the crown and to Nohr, they will be the last words to ever leave your liar's mouth."

Iago sputtered, and in any other situation would have quailed, but his proximity to Garon must have made him bold. "How dare you speak to me that way! I am the king's adviser! You can't just threaten my life and expect no repercussions!"

"There is always another upstart dog willing to beg scraps at my father's table," Leo said, and Corrin had to fight the urge to try to look at him, even blindfolded. "Your replacement could hardly be less advantageous for the kingdom."

" ** _ENOUGH!_** " Garon's voice shook the room, shook Corrin's teeth in her head, but she felt Camilla and Leo's legs brush against her shoulders and drew strength from their presence. "Iago, if you speak out of turn once more then I will let my son make good on his promise. Leo, you are my child and a valued commander, but if you do not answer my question then the same fate will be visited on you. Now:  _why is Corrin alive?_ "

Leo stepped forward, addressing the crown directly, and Corrin's heart followed him out there.

"Your Majesty is familiar with the various sundry magics that the Hoshidans can employ, and the forms that those can take. You are also aware that my sister did not enter Hoshido of her own volition—she was captured by an enemy combatant, in sight of one of our troops, after Hans fled the scene in derelict of his duty to protect her." Garon's voice rose in a growl, but Leo continued. "You are  _also_ aware that blood is a powerful source and conduit for magic; it is what allows our family to manipulate the dragon veins, and one of the sources of our strength. During my confrontation with Corrin I determined that, in keeping with a theory put forth before, she was not acting of her own will. As near as I can tell, the blood she shares with the Hoshidans allowed them to influence her thoughts and set her against us, her true family, contravening what would be her own wishes if she had command of herself."

"And this is the conclusion you have arrived at." Garon's voice was soft, a serpent's scales coiling in on themselves, with just as much promise of violence and death. Corrin could hear the venom dripping. "It is simply...  _not her fault._ "

"Yes, my king."

"And I concur with his findings," Camilla said, stepping forward, leaving Corrin alone on the floor. "No one knows my sister better than I do, Father. You know that. When we fought, she was not herself, and every action saw the struggle written plainly on her face."

"My children. My children, who cling so fiercely to one another." The hint of affection there was a veneer, leaning into something else. "How adamantly you protect one another. Of course you know that if you seek to protect Corrin now for her sake, rather than the kingdom's, because you love her and not because your story is true, that you are as traitorous as she? That in sharing her treason, you will share her punishment?"

"Of course, Father." She could hear Camilla's smile in the dark, and wanted to reach out to her.

"It is the only way things should be." Leo's surety and confidence was so total, so absolute, and so  _false_ that she could not bear the sound of it. Corrin lifted her head, her mind all a storm, to tell her siblings that they did not have to do this, that they should ever share in her punishment, that she had never betrayed them, she had to tell them she  _loved_ them—

But her jaw would not move, as if her molars were fused together. She pulled, strained, but could do no more than hiss between her teeth. Some magic was holding her silent.

_Leo. Oh, Leo, please, no..._

"As it should be," Garon repeated. "Suppose I allow the possibility that this... theory may be true. I would have some greater proof of it. Corrin. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Defense was not her intent; with her death she would exonerate them, offer herself up to Garon's mercies. She would let Iago kill her, would let  _Hans_ have his way, if that would be payment enough to spare Camilla and Leo. She could feel the scales tilting beneath her, her life weighed against theirs, and that the balance was so precarious was like knives in her belly. She would die to protect them, she had only to say the words, she would lie and throw her choices into the shadows but she could not let them die for her. She tried to speak, tried to tell the lie, but all that came out was a pained groan and a long hiss.

"She has been like this since we captured her," Leo said, and his voice did not betray anything. "I believe that her ability to speak will return over time."

"She will speak  _now_ ," Garon said, and his boots were heavy as he descended the steps. "Enchantment or not, I would hear an explanation from her own mouth. I would hear how she is a victim of the Hoshidans, how their betrayal of her was an attack on us, and that she is not to blame for the Nohrian lives she has stolen. Speak, Corrin.  ** _SPEAK!_** "

But she could not.

He must have struck her then. The impact was absolute and world-shattering, divesting her of her senses so that she could not cry out even as Leo's magic vanished. The entire world was roaring, and there was no up or down, and the only thing she was sure of was the feel of the stone cool against her cheek. She was bleeding, but did not know from where. The sound was like an ocean crashing against the inside of her eardrums.

Voices then, far away, inaudible over the roar in her ears. Camilla's shock, Leo careful and terse, Garon speaking a command, Iago laughing and laughing and laughing. And someone else, a new presence, who walked with steps so heavy that the floor shook beneath them.

Powerful hands grabbed hold of her and hauled her to her feet, keeping her upright when her legs tried to collapse. Garon was talking, and she could not catch what he was saying, but she strained and strained through the agony in her skull and heard the end:

"...and you will determine if she has been under the influence of Hoshidan magic. If she has not, you will execute her on the spot. If she  _has_ , then she is compromised by the fact of her blood, and you will execute her on the spot! Do not fail me in this! Begone!"

A shove, and she nearly tripped, but the hand at her back grabbed her by her armor and would not let her fall, so she stumbled and pitched forward but never hit the ground. The act of walking was beyond her now, the  _awareness_ of walking was all she had left. She slipped in and out of consciousness as she moved, unable to pick out what was happening around her and to her. Camilla was gone. Leo was gone. She was alone now save for her new captor, walking down a corridor she couldn't pick out, stumbling, still walking.

 _Silent_ , she thought to herself,  _stay silent for them, do not speak. Scream if you have to, scream until your voice tears, but do not speak, do not let them die for you. If you meet your end here then end well, Corrin, and let them keep going. Oh Camilla, Leo, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..._

On and on she went through the dark, until she was brought to a chamber. She was made to halt, and the door opened before her, and she was pushed roughly into the room. She fell, unable to catch herself, and had to push herself up onto her knees.

"I prayed it wouldn't come to this." Corrin's heart seized in her chest.  _No_. "Every day I prayed you would come home to us. To me. I would have protected you, no matter what it took."  _Please no, anything but this, anyone but_ him. "I waited for you for so long, thinking the strength of your heart would bring you back... But not like this."

Powerful hands—gentler now, so much gentler—lifted her into a sitting position, reached around her head, and pulled her blindfold away. Now tears were running freely down her face, and pain and shame had twisted together to form some new thing in her chest that she couldn't put a name to. The light was blinding after so long in darkness, but she blinked through the pain, trying so hard to see, so ashamed and so afraid but still needing to see, needing to know.

And he was looking down at her, and she had never seen such sorrow in anyone's face before.

"Welcome home, little princess."


	3. Chains Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which family reunions are short-lived.

He unbound her wrists and gestured to the table and chairs that stood next to them. She tried to get to her feet, still shaky from her long unconsciousness, and he held her hand and helped her stand enough to be properly seated. She rubbed at her wrists as he sat in the other chair, on the opposite side of the table, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Xander's expression was unreadable, as if he had been carved out of stone by a sculptor who could capture the shape of his face but not the shades of his spirit. She had always been able to tell what he was thinking, or near enough to it, but now...

But that wasn't right either. She had to admit that she had never really been able to read Xander. This moment was just one in a long series of incidents illustrating how little she had tried to understand him. He had been so sorrowful moments before, but now it was if he had buried all of it. Why would he do that?

"Big brother," she said, paused. "Xander. When Garon struck me I couldn't hear very well, but... did I understand his orders? Are you actually going to execute me?"

"Put that out of your mind." His tone was plain and commanding now, as if they were in the training yard and not in one of the interrogation rooms of Krakenburg. "What comes later is of no concern to you, nor to me. For now, this is not an execution, it is an inquiry, and I am your inquisitor. All that concerns me, and all that _need_ concern you, is the truth."

"Xander, please, you _know_ the truth. You know it as well as I do!" That she was speaking at all brought back Leo's lie that she could not do so, the layers of falsehoods that Camilla and Leo had tied themselves in to spare her life for a handful of minutes. "When I was in front of Garon, the things Camilla and Leo said... they had nothing to do with any of this."

"Camilla and Leo," he said, so forcefully she flinched from him, "will answer for any crimes they have committed in a manner befitting the wrong they have done to Nohr, as any of us would." He laid both of his hands on the table, the metal of his gauntlets whispering on the polished grain as he laced his fingers together. "You say I know the truth. Perhaps that is true, but it does not matter. I will hear it from your mouth, Corrin. That day on the Hoshidan border, you chose Hoshido over Nohr, and said so in as many words to my face. You claimed it was because our king is evil, but that is not a full answer. There is no pressure of time here, no chance of us being interrupted by scouts or soldiers or Iago or anyone else. Tell me all of it: why did you leave?"

She had been walking across the entire continent with this knowledge, never having to speak of it—at least not all of it—to anyone. Her Hoshidan siblings shared her sorrow, though not her guilt, for the deaths at the city square. The knowledge was fuel, fed into the furnace of her resolve, and it had kept her warm for a very long time. She had begun to think that would never need to let go of it, feared that one day it would lose its meaning.

Secrets were not something she had kept as a child; they were meant to be shared, like jewels that did not have the same luster or meaning if they were not shown to others. She had always rationed out her secrets like gifts, whispering of dark places to Leo and Elise, or a new bad word she had learned to Camilla, or some frightening dream she had to Xander. Trying to apply that thought, the very concept of precious knowledge, to the secrets she was carrying now bordered on repellent. Still it gnawed at her, an itch that made her think that something could be done, simply by speaking.

"You would hear it all?" Corrin smiled at Xander, and he did not answer in kind. "You would be my confessor?"

"If that helps you to speak, yes." A long silence, and then, "You can tell me anything." When he spoke those words she felt as if a band around her chest had snapped, and she breathed cleanly and deeply for the first time in what felt like a very long time.

"When Garon sent me to the Bottomless Canyon to investigate an outpost there, it was manned by Hoshidans who said that our presence was violating their border treaty. Hans killed one of their border patrol, which started a battle that nearly got me, Jakob, and Gunter all killed. After you arrived, Hans actually did kill Gunter, dropping him into the canyon." She looked down at her hands, afraid to see if Xander was worried, more afraid to see if his expression hadn't changed. "I remember the sound Gunter made as he fell. Then I fought Hans, ran him off. He said that he was acting on orders from Garon." She looked at Xander now: stone, implacable, unmoving, unfeeling. She had to breathe deeply to fight the urge to cry.

He did not move. He said nothing.

"I was captured by Hoshidans after that. The same two that you and I freed. They took me to the capital, and I was brought before Queen Mikoto and Prince Ryoma. I thought they were going to execute me, but Mikoto." This did not hurt, but she stopped and covered her face with her hands and waited until the raw feeling faded. "Mikoto told me she was my mother, and that I had been kidnapped by Garon. I actually remembered it, Xander. I remembered Sumeragi falling riddled with arrows, and Garon reaching out to me. I was confused, and terrified, but she was so happy. She had me taken throughout the city, escorted only by her youngest children, and brought to the square. She began to proclaim me as her daughter, returned from being lost."

She heard him shift in his chair, thought perhaps his shoulders had moved, but saw nothing that she would swear by.

"An assassin appeared, and summoned my sword—the one Garon had given me—to their own hand. The sword was some kind of... of bomb. It killed so many people in the square, Xander. It would have killed me too, but Mikoto threw herself in front of me and all the shrapnel went into her body instead of mine. She, ah." Corrin stopped, wiped at her eyes, coughed. She was not doing well at keeping her voice level. "I haven't talked about this with anyone. Ryoma and the others, she was their mother too, they had all the same sorrows that I did. But she, she died in my arms. She asked if I was hurt, and I wasn't, and she was so  _glad_. She was my mother, and I had just found her again, hadn't even been able to recognize her, and she died in my arms and everyone else lost her too but she died protecting  _me_ , she died because of me, protecting me from a weapon that  _I_ brought into the city. My mother died because I killed her."

Her silence had been a scab forming over the surface of her pain, giving her a chance to heal beneath it. But the healing was so slow, and she hadn't experienced the real pain of it, and now the scab was off and the open air was a shock, and she buried her head in her arms and did not look up for a long time, not hearing anything over the sound of herself. She wanted desperately to be comforted, for a moment she wanted Camilla who had shushed her broken heart when she was small, but more she wanted Xander, Xander who had helped her learn to cope with pain and fear and guilt and alienation, and he was only on the other side of this table but there was an abyss between them, one she couldn't cross, would probably never be able to cross again. She waited, but he never reached out, never so much as touched her arm, and she knew that if he did then she would be broken entirely but his absence hurt her so much in the moment that she couldn't hold her grief in.

It seemed a very long time before she was able to stop. He handed her a handkerchief, and she cleaned her face, and when she looked at him again her eyes were dry and her voice was smooth and unbroken.

"Garon sent his man to kill me, and used me as a murder weapon against my own mother. I saw the terror of his attacks on the Hoshidan border, and against the Hoshidan people. I could not countenance such evil, and resolved that I would not, because in permitting it I would be taking part in it myself." She drew herself up, squared her shoulders. "I couldn't make that choice, Xander. I could not return to Nohr, not if it meant acquiescing to those acts and what they meant. If you cannot grant me that right, I will bear your scorn gladly."

Xander's bearing did not change, nor his expression, but the crease in his brow was not as deep, and when he spoke it was with a softness she had not heard in a long time. "I would never gainsay you that, little princess. Your pain is yours, and the wrongs done to you are yours, too."

"What?"

"You told me that my father was evil, there on the Hoshidan border, and I did not believe you. But I want you to understand that it is not because I could not believe that of my father; I am a fool, but I am not blind, and have known our king for a very long time. If these things had been done to you, and you left us over it, then your hurt, your need for justice, was greater than your love for us. No," and here he moved his hand through the air in a cutting motion, interrupting her before she could speak, "do not argue. If the only way to stop this war was to kill me, you would do it. That is not an evil thing. What is evil is that all of these things happened to you in spite of me. I am—I was your protector, or I tried to be. But you have suffered so much because I could not shield you from the evil thoughts of a man I stood beside, and that was a notion too heavy for me. I am sorry. I have failed you."

"Oh," she said, and she wanted to argue but instead the two of them were quiet. After a time she said, "You believe me?"

"Every word. There is no reason to think you have lied."

A thread of light there, and she reached for it.

"Then you can... Xander, you know this war is wrong. You know that Garon's aggression is wrong! You've seen what he's done, what's capable of! We can make this right. You can still help me stop him!"

Now he grimaced. "No, I cannot."

Her temples throbbed, the pressure of her anger slamming against the inside of her skull like a thing trying to be hatched. "Why? Why do you keep denying it? I  _know_ you can see—"

"There is still so much you don't know, little princess," he said, and there was sorrow in his voice and written plain on his face and her anger died. "I cannot. I know what he has done, but I  _cannot_."

"Then why?"

His turn to pause. "Of the four of us, only Elise was able to continue behaving anything like she had before; she was sad that you were gone, almost unspeakably so, but she turned her love outward and to the people and was able to stand because of that. Leo." The sound of his hands tightening, the creak of leather. "Leo would not see anyone. He threw himself into his studies, into his work, thinking to bring you home by force. He was so hurt by your betrayal that he tried to convince himself he did not love you, and still through all of that he wanted to bring you home."

That much she knew, could see Leo emerging from the darkness of the marsh astride his horse as clearly as if it had still happened. He had been in so much pain, so ready to face his death, so hurtful. He had told her that he had resented her, that he had  _never_ loved her, and on the other side of unconsciousness he had spoken lies to his father that would see him killed if they were ever found out, all to protect her. Corrin could feel his hand in hers, even now. She wished that he was here.

"For days, Camilla could not speak, or would not speak. Elise tried to reach through to her and failed. Her sense of duty is stronger than in our younger siblings, she knows well her place in the kingdom, and she knows what our father and his forces are capable of. When she left Castle Krakenburg to crush the resistance in Cheve, she thought to find you, intended to kill you. These words she spoke to me: 'I will kill her, Xander. I will hold her to my breast as she drifts to sleep. It will be free of pain, a mercy that none of Father's men will give her, and when it is done I am going to cut open my throat.'" He swallowed. "Did you know?"

Corrin nodded. She couldn't do anything else. Her voice cracked when she finally asked, "What about you?"

"I prepared myself," he said, and now he was leaning onto the table again, further forward than before, "and I fought for Nohr. Elise and Leo and Camilla and you, in your own ways, went about the business of tending to your own souls. Whatever it took to heal yourselves, to protect yourselves, to make things right and good and just or a little less ugly, all of you did it. Not I. I worked with Father, denying him where I could, and obeying him where I could not."

"Why?"

"Because I am the Crown Prince, Corrin. I am not allowed the sanctity of my own soul. The duty of any ruler and their heir is to tend to the nation, not themselves. I thought of joining you,  _fantasized_ about taking Elise and Camilla and Leo and disappearing into the woods to find you, of joining your band and fighting at your side until we brought the war home and ended it all. A fantasy, because it could not be so; even when I dreamed of those moments I could not help but look ahead, to blood-soaked horizons and fields of fire, of the bodies of Nohrian citizens strewn through the grass like discarded seed." Now he  _was_ shaking, his right leg rising and falling in a rapid rhythm, his heel tapping on the floor. "Our people are so strong, Corrin, and their livelihoods are so fragile. Every year we are only a small margin away from starvation. All of our expansionism has been for the sake of gathering food, trading what precious few resources we have to keep our people fed. And I, I am not strong enough to depose my father, little princess. I do not have the men to make it into a battle. It will always be a war, and even if I was victorious and stamped out the vipers who would vie to seize the throne for themselves after my regicide, the nation would be devastated, left undefended for decades." He reached up, touched his right temple. "I had Leo do the numbers for me, though I hid their meaning from him. According to his estimates, if I were to move against the king, then half of Nohr would starve to death in five years.  _Half_. Our country would never recover. In a century, Nohr would cease to exist." His knee ceased to shake, and he lowered his hand, and he was as he had been before, immovable, invincible. "Tell me: what measure of justice would be worth that?"

What answer could there be to such a question? That Nohr was poor and without resources she had known, but in her isolation in the Northern Fortress she had also had a measure of protection; if things were truly so precarious, had always been, then she had never been told or allowed to hear such a thing. But if it  _was_ that precarious...

"And what if Hoshido wins this war?"

She thought he would stop to think, but his answer was instant: "That is not your concern, my sister. That weight is not on your soul. You are the heir to neither kingdom, and Nohr is no longer your home." He stood, looked down at her, and the weight of his presence was crushing. For the first time, she noticed that Siegfried was not at his hip—it was leaned against the opposite corner of the room. "You would see me as your confessor, and so I will be: you are absolved. Do what you must. Fight for the sanctity of your soul, little princess, because it is the only thing that is worth fighting for."

She rose from the chair, and stepped around the table, and put her arms around him. Then his arms were around her, too, and she rested her head against his chest and breathed in the smell of sweat and horses and iron, the same way he had smelled ever since she was a girl. This was different, could not be more different, but it was not because of where they were or why they were there; it was because she could feel the weight on his shoulders, and how strong he must have been to walk upright beneath it. That was better. It was a better thing. She had been carrying a weight too, and it was growing heavier over time, but seeing his strength made her feel like she could take another step.

Corrin was the first to let go, and Xander released her only after. She stepped back from him, looked up at him, crossed her arms. She felt light, somehow. Peaceful.

"What now?"

"Please, sit." He waited in silence, so she took her seat again. "Our father the king has decreed that, once the cause of your siding with Hoshido has been determined, you are to be executed. I, as the inquisitor, am to carry out the sentence myself." He paused, looking at her. "One thing has not been made clear to me, however. Our intelligence has indicated that, in the aftermath of the explosion in the city square, you transformed into a dragon. In that form, you were not in control of yourself. Can you tell me more of that?"

She nodded, remembering the feeling of fire filling her body, setting her thoughts ablaze. All she had heard were her own screams.

"I was... it is hard to describe. It was like a nightmare."

"Were you in pain?"

"Some. Most of the stress was mental. I had to be calmed by Azura's singing, and afterward she told me that if it happened again, if I lost control of myself, that I would be in danger of losing my humanity. I would be a beast. She gave me my dragonstone to guard against that; it lets me retain my thoughts, control when I go into and come out of the transformation."

"Hmm." He reached into a pouch at his waist, and from it withdrew a shining stone at the end of a pendant, the color of a deep, clean lake. The moment she saw it, Corrin felt the hum of its magic in her skin, soothing her nerves, calling out to her. When he set it down on the table in front of her, it was all she could do not to snatch it up like a hungry child.

"What are you doing?" Her voice would not go above a whisper.

The Crown Prince turned from her. "It would not do for you to be executed in a state where the anticipation might cause you pain, or trigger your transformation. It is for your safety and mine that I give you the stone." He folded his hands behind his back. "I will retrieve Siegfried now, and with that blade I will perform my duty. Know that if you try to run from this place, to leave through that door, that I will surely give chase. You will not be able to get away unless you make a head start for yourself, and right now you cannot."

"Xander? Xander, what is this?"

"It will take me a moment to retrieve Siegfried." He walked over to the corner in a few short steps and stood looking down at his sword, making no move to reach for it. "The weight of it is terrible, and moreso when wielded for a terrible purpose. Please excuse my hesitation."

Iron creaked softly against iron, and Corrin's head whipped toward the doorway. Her expectation was Iago waiting to see her executed, or Hans, or even Garon himself—but the first thing she saw were long ringlets of golden hair, with the head they were attached to peeking around the doorway only a little.

" _Elise?_ " Her voice was barely a hiss.

The youngest princess of Nohr poked her head completely through the doorframe, looking around once to take in the scene of the room, and then finally looking at Corrin herself. She put her finger to her lips, as if to shush her older sister, and then waved Corrin toward her.

Corrin looked to Xander, who still looked down at Siegfried, hands folded. He had not moved at all.

 _A_ _head start_ , she thought, and grabbed hold of her dragonstone.

Light and sound blurred the world around her as she leaped through the air, her body expanding to fill it as if seeking a shape more analogous to its true nature. The table splintered behind her, and she had a flash of Elise looking up, her mouth an open O of shock, and Corrin's antlers scraped the ceiling as her transformation fully asserted itself. She flew to Xander, and he did not look up.

"I love you," she said to him in a voice that had a resonance like a violin, and then she slammed into his back with all the force in her body. He was strong, preposterously strong, so she did not curb the force of the blow, but when he crashed into the wall she was momentarily afraid she had really hurt him. Xander fell to his knees, eyes turned to the ceiling, and blood trickled from his forehead.

"Oh,  _wow!_ " Elise had dropped all pretense of silence or stealth, not that it would have done them much good anymore. "You can turn into a dragon? That's amazing!"

"Talk later! Run now!" She moved to the doorway, which she could squeeze through in this shape but only barely. "Quick, get on my back!"

" _I get to ride on your back!?"_ Elise only needed to be told once; she vaulted up expertly, leaning down and resting her body against Corrin's neck. "Oh, before I forget, I have a present for you!" Corrin turned her head around just far enough to see that Elise was holding up a long, narrow object wrapped in uncured leather bound with twine. "It's your sword! Xander left it in his room!"

The Yato sang to her too, and Corrin laughed, feeling whole for the first time in over a day. "All right! Hold on tight, we're going to—"

The stone shook beneath her and all around her, mortar drifting down from the ceiling. She and Elise both looked back into the room, and there they saw Xander, standing, his expression unreadable. He was drawing Siegfried, and the world was moaning as the blade met the air.

" _RUN!_ _"_ Elise shouted, and Corrin dashed with all the strength in her legs and the spot where she had been standing a moment before exploded in a roaring cloud of purple fire. She tore down the hallway and Elise's arms were tight around her neck and she felt  _alive_ , she was not free yet but she was going to make it, and Elise had her sword and Xander was at her back.

"Stop her!" Xander roared, and his voice carried through the halls of the castle. "Stop the lady Corrin! She has abducted Princess Elise!"

* * *

Corrin carried Elise at speed through Krakenburg, and no soldier was able to keep up with her or catch her. Mages threw their magic, but they were the only ones who managed to even make the attempt; only the smallest number of them ever actually struck her, and Elise's magic soothed her wounds as they ran.

No one stopped her as they fled through the main gate, which would have been shut save that the guards had been left bound and gagged in suspiciously enthusiastic ropework. Similarly, the guards prowling through Windmire never reached her; every one meant to be walking the relevant routes came down with sudden and severe cases of food poisoning, and though other garrisons gave chase they never came close.

Mounted figures followed down open streets, one astride a horse and the other a wyvern, both wild-eyed and grim. Anyone who saw them gave them a wider berth, and assumed they had things under control. A third mounted figure trailed them by moments, his cape making his silhouette enormous and his collar laying flat in the wind.

King Garon was waiting for her atop the gate to the city, and the best archers in his command were there with him. He stood watching, but instead of minding the streets he was looking outward, into the field that opened up in front of the city. There was the killing field; there was where she would be laid low.

The young dragon, princess astride her back, tore past the city gate and galloped into the field, kicking up dust and dirt that threw wild shadows in the moonlight. Garon raised his right hand, and every archer drew back their strings.

"Prepare to let loose," he said, and his eyes were wide and terrible as he smiled. Only the thunder of hooves interrupted the moment.

"Belay that order!" Garon wheeled as Xander pulled his horse up beneath the battlement, shouting his order from the ground. "Corrin has kidnapped Elise! Do not shoot!"

Garon's teeth ground together as he looked down at his eldest son, and their eyes met, and not for the first time he felt his hand itch for his axe. "Prepare to fire."

A buffeting wind sent two archers staggering, and then many more fell as a wyvern landed on the crenelation, its talons digging deep into the stone. Camilla was atop it, her hair wild in the wind, her eyes huge and terrible in the moonlight, and her axe was in her hand.

"Whoever looses an arrow at my sister dies," she said, "and it will not be prettily."

"Daughter," Garon said, and he was at the edge of his control. "Which sister is it that you protect?"

"Oh, Father, dear." Her smile was back, cold and distant. "In your fervor for justice, I am sure you have not noticed, but  _Elise is on Corrin's back_."

"Then why. Are you not. Retrieving her."

"I am here to keep the home fires burning," she said, and now her eyes were open again and her smile was gone and she looked her father in the eyes, "while Nohr's heroes go to rescue its princess."

Leo's horse streaked into the night, and Xander's followed, and Camilla stared down at their father. Their breath all hung above them in thick clouds of condensation, dispersed only by the wind of Camilla's wyvern adjusting its wings.

* * *

Leo looked back over his shoulder as Krakenburg shrank away, its lights burning brightly against the starless dark. Xander followed him, drawing closer, and he could see the iron determination on his brother's face. That will at his back was a pressure that drove him onward, faster and faster.

Corrin had pulled ahead of them, far enough that they would not be able to catch her unless she began to tire, and they did not even know if she  _could_ tire in this shape. The woods loomed before them, representing a darkness they could not pierce, in which they would lose her  _and_ Elise, and he couldn't let that happen, not yet. He dug his spurs into his horse's side, giving it nearly free rein as he squeezed hard with his thighs. He had never pushed a horse as hard as he was pushing now, and had no idea how long it could keep up this dash, but the trees drew closer as the field shrank away.

"Corrin!" He tried to shout to her, but the wind took the name from his mouth and threw it back over his shoulder. No, that was no good. She was almost to the woods now, and Elise wasn't looking back, and Corrin wouldn't be able to hear him.

Releasing the reins entirely, Leo reached down to his belt and unfastened the clasp on Brynhildr. He lifted the book up, feeling its warmth flow through him, and in that moment he also felt the roots of the trees at the edge of the forest, over which Corrin's feet were pounding the grass. He reached out to it, called to it, willed his power through the trees—

He could hear Elise squeal and Corrin roar in shock as roots exploded out of the earth in front of them in a wall, just long enough to get them to stop before sinking back into the earth. He breathed out his relief; if he couldn't do this last, then it was all for nothing. He reclasped Brynhildr and drew out another book, one with a well-worn embossing on its spine.

"Corrin! Hold, Corrin!" Finally,  _finally_ she heard him, and he was not ashamed of his relief as she turned, and the magnificence of her new form struck him then; she was like a god of the woods, or a lake, or something even older and more elemental. Elise was waving crazily at him, too excited to do much more than laugh. He reined in his horse, heard Xander slowing behind him. "You're lucky that I reached you before anyone else did. Stop running for a moment, I have something for you."

He was not aware of the arrow sailing through the air until it had buried itself in his thigh, stopping only when it struck bone. It stuck out like a ridiculous decoration, and he stared, at first not feeling it. He looked to the trees, was still looking when the pain hit him and he doubled over on his saddle, biting down on the leather of his gauntlet to keep from screaming or ripping the arrow out.

"Leo!" Corrin's voice was much closer, now, and human besides; he had managed to lose a few seconds there. Elise was further away, screaming her outrage at someone at the tree line, someone with ridiculous hair. "Leo, are you all right? Speak to me!"

An arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him upright, a heavy weight pressing against his other leg. He looked up, and Xander was looking down at him, calm and attentive after pulling his horse next to Leo's own. "Quickly, Leo. We have no time here. If we try to remove that arrow it will tear your femoral artery, but we need you wounded to sell the reason for our retreat and so cannot heal you by magic. Give her what you need to, before you pass out."

"Yes." He was still holding the book in his other hand, he realized, and nearly lost his grip as he held it out to her. "Spellbook. You should be able to use it, or one of the Hoshidans can. It will carry you and your troops, all of you, for one trip and back. Take it to Notre Sagesse. Find the Rainbow Sage. He will give you the help you need to finish your mission." She was confused, he could see her confusion, and he thought of all the lessons they had taken together as she took the tome from him. "Still so slow on the uptake. Lucky you have us to take care of you. Please, sister. Go."

"I will," she said. "If this Rainbow Sage can give me the help I need to save Nohr from Garon, then I will be back."

"Go deeper into the woods before you use it," Xander said, and his voice was distant and muffled as if he were underwater. But then, so were all sounds, now. "Elise will stay with you. Protect her, as she will protect you."

Corrin said something in reply, but Leo did not hear. He was very tired, now, and had trouble staying awake. Still, he felt it when she took his hand in hers, and he had the strength to squeeze back. Then she was gone, retreating into the woods, and the Hoshidans retreated with her.

"She will make it," Xander said in his ear, forcefully enough to pull him out of his reverie.

"Of course she will," Leo said, and was aware that Xander was pulling him over onto his own horse, a charger meant to hold Great Knights, better suited for carrying two people. "She has the devil's own luck."

Then he slipped quietly into darkness, and only his brother kept him from slipping out of the saddle on the ride home.


	4. Clouds Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a kingdom begins to teeter.

So it came to pass that Elise went with her older sister and the gathered forces of Hoshido to seek out the Rainbow Sage, as Xander had done before. Glad to have her sister with her, Corrin still wondered how differently things might have gone if she had been victorious in the battle against Leo; but she, like anyone, was not privy to the answers that chance had snatched away from her. She could not have known that Leo would have given the book to her anyway; that when she next faced Camilla it would be with the strength to defeat her; that Elise would die defending her; that, his heart broken, Xander would force her hand into killing him; that Garon would fall and Camilla would abdicate and Leo would be a good, just king. Corrin could never know the path that she had turned away from, the trials and the rewards that had missed her, but that is what would have been.

In time, Corrin's path would yield different consequences. Her resolve was crystallized, for she loved justice too much to compromise it (how different things would have been if she had loved family more, or had refused to yield on either front) and given that same choice over and over again would side with Hoshido every time. Only knowledge could have changed that.

It is possible that, knowing what she knew by the end of her journey, Corrin might have chosen differently.

* * *

Maybe she should have felt more alone among the Hoshidans, but Elise didn't, not really. Certain members of the army gave her sideways glances or stared daggers into her back, but none of them were so unkind as to say mean things to her face, and maybe that was really all she could be asking for. One or two soldiers she had met seemed to think she was a sort of hostage, and she guessed they were of rank because they had spoken to Ryoma in earshot about his plans for her. Ryoma dressed them down, and they went away ashamed, which made her think of Xander. The ideas of decorum were so different that she wished she could spend time studying Hoshidan manners, learning everything there was to learn from Sakura and the rest of Corrin's... the phrase "other family" hurt to think, at first, but it was getting easier. Corrin herself was very busy, always dealing with the dispensation of supplies and troops, taking on responsibilities so myriad and heavy that Elise barely recognized her big sister. She wanted to go and talk to her, and knew that Corrin would make time for her if she asked, but seeing that look of determination on her face...

They had come to a flat on the ascent of Mount Sagesse and there they'd made camp as the sun went down. The brightness of the sunset—and the clarity of the stars, now—arrested her, forcing her eyes skyward every time she thought of it, and she stopped to see the moon. It was rare to see any part of the sky unblocked in Nohr, and the number of times she had seen the moon before venturing out with Corrin could be counted on one hand.

"So pretty," she said to no one, and walked to where the horses were penned. It was easy to find hers: all the Hoshidan mounts were pegasi or falcon pegasi, white wings folded against their flanks as they stood about in the quiet dark, or else the amazing  _kinshi_ birds so big that men and women could ride them into battle, and her dark bay mare was the only spot of color in the entire camp. She whistled, low and quiet, and followed the familiar nicker that rang out in answer. A few light-colored heads raised in curiosity as she passed them where they were tied, but each of them relaxed and went back to sleep as she moved past them.

"Hey, Jasmine," she said, and Jasmine lowered her head and nudged Elise's shoulder with her nose. "I know, I know, I was worried about you too. Are you OK out here? I brought you a treat, fresh as I could find." She gave Jasmine a carrot, and as the mare crunched happily she bent and inspected the condition of her coat, her hooves, seeing if she'd been rubbed down and cleaned and taken care of. It was a slow process, and she could have done it faster but the comfortable heat and weight of the animal made her feel safer. Things were different out here—were they  _ever_ —but Jasmine was the same.

"Is everything all right, Princess Elise?" The deep voice behind her, speaking so gently, might has well have been raised in a war cry; she shrieked, and Jasmine reared, bringing her hooves down hard and wheeling on the intruder. The moment of panic passed, real danger much more pressing than her surprise, and Elise grabbed Jasmine gently by the head, stroking her nose.

"There, there, girl, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scream, there we go, ssshhh." She kept stroking, and Jasmine's flanks ceased to tremble, and Elise looked over at the new arrival who stood calm and quiet and tall (well, maybe not  _so_ tall, without his hair he might have been shorter than Camilla, much less Xander) and regal. "Oh! Prince Ryoma. Please, uh, please excuse my outburst. I didn't hear you arrive."

"Not at all. I did not mean to startle you." The moon was bright, and she could see very clearly as he took in the look of Jasmine. He had kind eyes and a patient expression. "She's a beautiful animal. I don't blame you for checking up on her."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she said, caressing Jasmine's nose one last time before stepping away, "or I didn't mean that I don't trust the grooms here. Jasmine's been given immaculate care! I just felt kind of..." She knew what she wanted to say, but something kept her from doing it, some guardedness that she was not used to. Ryoma was similar to Xander in some ways, but he was not her brother, and sharing her thoughts with him felt like overreaching.

"Lonely?" It was a gentle question, from someone used to teasing out problems from people who didn't like to share.

No point in lying. "Mmhmm."

"That's understandable, I think. This is all new to you. Have you ever been outside of Nohr before?"

"Only once. When, uh," she looked down between her feet, scuffed her heel on the ground. "When we tried to bring Corrin home."

"Ah." That tone she couldn't read. There was a beat of silence, a long string of tension that stretched out across the moments, and then Ryoma's voice was gentle again. "I know that we've all had our turns at the mess already, but Corrin and I were about to have tea together. Would you care to join us?"

"Really?! Yes! I'd love to! Can I really?"

"Of course. I know you haven't had many opportunities to speak with her, so I'm sure—"

"Come on!" She was already past him, grabbing one of his hands in both of hers, and she felt him stagger before being pulled along behind her. If he spoke a word of protest she didn't hear it, wouldn't have been _able_ to hear it. "Come on, let's go!"

* * *

When the tea was finished and set aside (and Elise, Corrin noticed, had not complained even once about the lack of milk or sugar) and the servants had taken it away, the conversation suddenly came to a stop. At first Corrin and Elise hadn't noticed it, and had continued talking about incidental things like the weather and how well Jasmine was handling the trek up the mountain, but Ryoma's silence was an enveloping, smothering thing, and after a bit the both of them sat looking at him, waiting, expecting.

"I apologize for being brusque." The high prince of Hoshido was plainly uncomfortable but did not shift from his knees, did not even move his shoulders. "Corrin, Elise, I want you to know that I trust the two of you. Corrin, you have proven your faith by battling at our side, over and over, since that day on the border of Hoshido. I know it has been hard for you, and every decision has weighed on you in ways that I cannot speak to, but every man and woman in this army will gladly wage war in your name." Her eldest blood-brother probably meant that to be reassuring, but she felt the weight of it settle on her shoulders and thought she might be sick. "Princess Elise, you have only been with us for a few days, and I know that not all of our troops have treated fairly with you, but you have tended to our wounded and brought an infectious joy to the people around you. You have been an admirable representative of your people, and we are all glad to have you with us."

" _Takumi's_ not glad," Elise muttered under her breath, just low enough that Ryoma couldn't hear but Corrin did.

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming," Corrin said, squaring her shoulders and shifting her knees (kneeling as Hoshidan nobles did was Hell on the joints).

"There is. I said that I trust both of you, and I do, but at the same time I am concerned that we are not being open with each other about everything that is happening." He looked from Corrin to Elise and then back to Corrin. "Corrin," he said, in a tone that suggested he meant to say 'sister' and only held back for Elise's feelings, "I know that we are seeking the aid of the Rainbow Sage, and according to the old man we met he was responsible for granting great power to my father, to King Garon, and to Prince Xander. With that said, I am not clear as to what drove you to go on this journey in the first place. When Prince Leo told you to come to this place, you had just fled from captivity and he had every appearance of being in pursuit of you. The appearance was so convincing that when he used his magic to stop you,  _all_ of us believed that he was trying to recapture you." He made no mention of Takumi's arrow, of the shot that could have as easily killed Leo as not, but the fact hung in the air. "What made you so sure that you could trust that his book would do as he said?"

"Ryoma, please understand, I've known Leo since we were both children, and—"

Elise slammed her open palm on the flooring of the tent. "Leo would  _never_ hurt Corrin! Not for anything!" An angry Elise was not something that one saw very often, and Corrin was arrested by how much she looked like a teenaged girl version of Xander. "You weren't there, so you couldn't know, but Leo and Camilla and Xander engineered the whole thing so that Corrin would be able to escape!" Corrin thought she would back off, but Elise raised herself into the most imperious posture possible. "When Corrin was first brought in—before anybody else even heard Camilla and Leo were coming—Xander and I were there, waiting. We knew that Father would want to have her executed, and we couldn't let it happen. Xander took the Yato so nobody else would be able to do anything  _really_ bad with it, and Camilla took charge of Corrin so nobody would be able to hurt her, and Iago showed up right when Leo did and Leo ran him off. We only had about a minute, but the four of us worked together to come up with a plan to make sure she'd get out safe and free and be able to come back and make everything OK again!"

"All right. I understand, please forgive me for questioning where I should not." Ryoma bowed his head to Elise, and to Corrin. "I apologize for assuming the worst, and will not do so in the future. But in that case, Princess Elise, two questions remain."

Elise said nothing, but waited with her arms crossed. She was huffing now, and did  _not_ look so much like Xander anymore.

"The first, and please do not take this as any sort of repudiation of the value of your being here, is why did you and your siblings decide that you should travel with us? Why are you among your enemies, traveling with the army of a nation that might well take you hostage?"

And that, at last, was a question that Corrin felt needed answering. She had been so concerned with the logistics of getting the army up the side of Mount Sagesse that the presence of her sister had escaped her notice more than once, and even now she was utterly unable to say why Elise had chosen to come with her rather than return to Windmire with Xander and Leo.

Elise wilted as her older sister and this foreign prince looked at her, and she could not meet their eyes.

"Well..."

* * *

"What? You want me to leave by myself? Why wouldn't we all be going together, if we have to go?"

Elise's voice was barely above a whisper, only loud enough to be heard between the four of them, and she kept listening for the sounds that might betray that Iago was on the other side of the door. Xander stood with his eyes on the doorway, calm and watchful, while Leo paced noisily back and forth and Camilla knelt on the ground, Corrin gathered up limply in her arms.

"There will be consequences to what we do here today," Xander said, and his voice was low too but so deep that Elise worried that it might carry out to the hall anyway. "We cannot guess at what they will be, Elise. This kind of concerted act of defiance against Father is unprecedented."

"Assuming he sees it as defiance, which, if we are lucky, he will not." Leo seemed almost to be talking to himself, except that he kept looking at each of them in turn as he was pacing, his heels rapping hard against the floor. "Too many questions about what might or might not happen. Father's been swallowed up in his worship of Anankos, giving up more and more of his own agency to what he understands to be divine power, but—"

" _Enough_ , Leo."

Leo tsk'd through his teeth. "Fine. The point of it is this: we don't know what's going to happen. Father has not been in a very forgiving mood lately, and things could go badly for all of us."

"We could protect you, Elise." Xander's voice was gentle now, but he wasn't trying to reassure her, and somehow that made her feel better. He wasn't talking to her like a baby, or like his little sister, but as an equal. He'd never done that before. "But the fact of the matter is that the three of us will be more able to act if we don't have to worry about you."

"Or about Corrin," Camilla said. She had not looked up the whole time, had been looking down at Corrin's face while stroking her unconscious sister's cheek with the back of her hand. "If you can watch her while she's traveling with the Hoshidans, I would feel much safer letting her go." Her tone said she did not want to, and Elise knew that was true; if Camilla had her way, she'd just hide Corrin somewhere in the castle, somewhere nobody would ever find her.

"We three," Leo said, "have connections and networks of information that you don't, little sister. No one of us can go with you, or we would. We have to stay behind. We have too much work to do."

"Things will be dangerous here, Elise, and soon. Even if you were not part of what we were doing, you would be implicated simply by associating with us." Xander fingered the hilt of Siegfried, stared at the door. "There's too much to keep track of, too much to worry about. Making sure you were not connected to anything we did would make it more difficult for us to accomplish our work."

"But..."

Camilla looked up, then, looked her in the eyes. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, sweetheart. We can't make you. But I'm asking you to,  _we're_ asking you to, for yourself. For Corrin."

Leo stopped his pacing, looked over at her, and he seemed tall and calm and distant. "For our family."

She looked to Xander, then, and she could feel the tears welling but she fought them down, the entirety of her life was beginning to stretch out before her in a way that she barely understood. The weight of decision was on her, as it was on each of them, as it had been on Corrin on that terrible battlefield. The complexity of it, the consequences that she could not guess at, felt like a rock rolling down a hill, gathering momentum and debris as it went until it was a landslide, uprooting trees and homes and everything. Xander had been the shield who stood between her and the brutality of fate for so long, and she looked at him now and thought  _I must stand apart from him, from all of them,_ and he saw the look in her eyes and must have recognized it because his gaze became steely in its resolve and he spoke only two words:

"For Nohr."

* * *

Elise swallowed, and Corrin thought she had woken up from a reverie, even though she'd only been considering her answer for a couple of seconds.

"The truth is," Elise said, "that Leo said I needed to be near Corrin. Of all four of us, I'm the Nohrian royal least likely to incite violence by traveling with the Hoshidan army, and I'm young enough nobody asks questions if I try to stay near her. I'm the one who it would be most believable for her to have kidnapped. I'm the one who can keep her safe, and I'm the one who can build sympathy for Nohrians by traveling with you. I'm the one," she swallowed again, and looked afraid, "I'm the one who hasn't hurt any Hoshidans, so I'm the one you're least likely to try to hurt."

Ryoma never looked disturbed, but now he actually looked pained by what he was hearing. "That... that's so cold."

Corrin scooted over to her sister, slipped her hand into Elise's, and gripped firmly in response to the younger woman's squeeze. Elise was surprisingly together, all things considered; even just a few months ago she would have been in tears at having to talk about this sort of thing, much less actually being subject to it. She really wasn't the same little girl that Corrin thought of her as, and she needed to commit that to memory.

There was a moment of silence, and then Ryoma collected himself. "I apologize again if I have been insensitive in any way. You are clearly acting out of love for your sister and are a boon to us besides, and in the morning I will formally declare that you are in this camp as our friend and our guest. You will be assigned a retinue to make sure that your needs are met, and I will make sure that you, Corrin, and Sakura are near to each other as often as possible."

"That's way too generous!" Elise bowed as best she could, which wasn't very well given that she was seated. "You don't have to do all of that for me! I'm all right so long as I'm near my sister!"

"You'll be by me the whole time, Elise." Another squeeze on her hand, and Elise sat up and nodded to her and looked very serious again.

"I will do at least that much," Ryoma said, "and will still try to see if Sakura may travel with you as well. It will be good for our two youngest princesses to be seen mingling. But before all of that, I have one last question. Corrin has told me much about your brother, Prince Leo, and he sounds like a brilliant strategist. If he is working actively in Nohr, it could be of very great consequence to our efforts as we march on the capital. He is expecting us; unless he expects us to die before we reach the Rainbow Sage, he knows we will be returning to Windmire and that we intend to put an end to this war, by force if necessary. I know that he is not intending to deceive us, or to kill us by some other means," and here he held up his hand, "both because I trust that the two of you would not let that happen and because he has already passed by very good opportunities to see me and my siblings dead. So my question is this: what is he planning? Were you made privy to any of it before you two left together?"

"No," Elise said, instantly. "Not a word."

Neither Corrin nor Ryoma would ever learn that this was a lie.

* * *

The dark of the room was stifling, not dark like he was used to moving in, the dark of Windmire as broken by the distant glow of torches and the straining of the moon behind the clouds so that the entire world was bathed in a faint luminescence, but  _real_ dark, dark that swallowed up awareness and enhanced every sound into a knife blade placed against the eardrums. He shifted on his knees, moved his shoulders, and the strained groan of the rope rubbing against itself was the loudest sound in the world, short of the howling of his breath in his nostrils and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

The two who had captured him were there in the room with him, leaning against the wall, as comfortable with the darkness as if they had been born to it.  _Hell, maybe they were. Maybe that's what it takes to bring down a relic like me._ Flattering himself felt good, but these two had been more than he'd anticipated. One of them, the man, was humming under his breath, occasionally tapping a fingernail against the hard surface of his eyepatch in rhythm to make a beat. He was the one who had used the rope, whose chuckles at their target's resistance had let him know how hopeless everything was. The other, the woman, the one with the axe, he could not hear at all; she did not shift her weight, did not breathe loudly, did not tap her heels, did not move, seemed not to live. The one-eyed man had been the one to actually bring him down, but he knew the woman with the axe was the one he had to be more wary of now, because if he made too much trouble she would be the one to kill him.

Still. Still, the darkness was too much, perverting the silence, and he had to push back against it any way he could.

Shura pushed himself into a more upright position, sighing, and the ropes compressed his chest so he could not breathe too deeply but he could still project well enough in that small room. "This seems an awful lot of trouble for one washed-up old bandit."

"Oh,  _please_." The man with one eye stepped away from the wall, took a wide-footed stance. He probably had his arms crossed over his chest. Shura wondered if he could see in the dark, dismissed it, knew that that was the kind of speculation that made him more vulnerable. "You're selling yourself short! You gave us a Hell of a chase, and if there hadn't been two of us I don't think we could have taken you down at all. You're, hrm... I'm going to call you  _well-aged_."

"Silver fox," Shura said into the dark with a smile that showed in his voice.

"That too," the one-eyed man said, and leaned back against the wall.

"So what am I here for? Usually the authorities are a lot more—we'll say transparent—in why they've brought somebody in. You haven't even read a list of charges yet, and I've got a couple."

Another chuckle from the man with one eye, deep and throaty and hungry. The man was a sadist, of a quality that Shura had very rarely seen before, and if he hadn't been dealing with that type for so long the sound of that laughter might have made him afraid. "What makes you think we're the authorities?"

Shura barked a laugh, sudden enough in the darkness that both of his captors stepped away from the wall, and he heard the brush of leather against leather as their gloved hands went to their weapons. "You pups? Come on, I'm not stupid. I know every single hood who's been active in this city for the past five years, and you're not a member of  _any_ of the major gangs. People with skills like you two who aren't attached to one of the bosses, you're either foreign assassins—and your accents place you both as Windmire natives—or you have connections with the crown. Clemency in exchange for services rendered, I'm guessing, and you've been attached for a while."

"Huh. So we're the king's hitmen?"

"Hitmen? No. If I was supposed to be dead, if me being a corpse was even an option, your partner there would have cut me down as soon as I laughed."

"He's right," the woman said, and there was no amusement there, no space to interpret levity. She probably didn't have any of it in her.  _She_ was an assassin, which meant that him being kept alive was either going to be very interesting or very, very ugly.

"'Course I'm right. Been around the block more times than you two have had breakfasts. So that leaves the question,  _what am I here for?_ "

"Not our question to answer," the one-eyed man said, and the woman said nothing but stayed wrapped in the silence that made it hard to place her in the room. He knew that tone: he could goad them past this point, and they probably wouldn't even hit him for it, but he'd get nothing more from them until something happened. So he said nothing, hunkered down, and began to wait.

It had not been very long when he heard a sound from the hallway, of four pairs of boots shifting to an attentive stance while a fifth walked down the hallway. Soldiers saluting their commander, which meant this was military, which meant he was in trouble regardless. Over the past year the Nohrian military command structure had become even more ruthless than usual, especially with that idiot Hans rising in the ranks. The boots were wrong for Hans, though, the soles too hard. Riding boots. The pace of the steps were wrong too; Hans had always moved like a giant cat, lazy and relaxed, but these steps were precise and crisp and even, with no variation in the time between footfalls. You could lead a parade, conduct an orchestra, with that kind of rhythm. Real military, then. What did  _that_ mean?

His guards stood at attention, and then the door opened and the sudden flood of light hit him in the face and blinded him. He squeezed his eyes against the pain and tried to make out who his visitor was, but all he could see as they stood in the doorway was that they were tall, and broad-shouldered, and wore a cape. Any number of Nohrian officers fit that description. His first instinct was to ask a question but he bit it down; he had seen what happened to some of his own crew after letting themselves be captured. Best not to provoke if he could help it.

"You are Shura," said the man in the doorway, and at the sound of his voice the old bandit's stomach seemed to fall through the floor. "Last warrior standing from the vanished realm of Kohga, now a thorn in the side of the Nohrian royal family."

Shura said nothing, licked his lips, waited for more, to be asked a question, anything. His mind raced over nothing and he felt it tripping on gravel.

"Bring torches," the man said, and someone did, and in the light Shura saw the face of Xander, the crowned prince of the realm. When he looked at Shura, it wasn't like an executioner might have looked, but that didn't mean anything, all that he could tell was that he was being weighed. "You have operated unimpeded in Windmire, under the very nose of His Majesty King Garon, for the better part of a decade. You have criminal dealings and connections that give you leverage in the underworld throughout half of the kingdom. You are gathering a very great deal of money, though I do not know where you are keeping it. I can guess at your purpose."

Nothing. His mouth had no spit in it.

"You appreciate your position here, and I appreciate your position on a larger scale. Do you seek to restore Kohga?"

A trick, maybe. Shura looked at the man with one eye, who was grinning openly at him from beneath his light-colored hair, and then at the woman with the axe whose expression was utterly blank. But the crown prince knew, which meant there was nothing to do. If they wanted a particular answer and he didn't give it, they would just torture him for it. "Yes."

The prince surprised him by nodding. "Good. That is noble. Our realms are more than just our lands, the physical realities of our homes: they are the souls of our peoples, the collected legacy and meaning of uncounted generations. They are our lives, and we must cling to them fiercely."

"Yes." He swallowed. "Yes, lord."

"Money will not be enough to restore your lands, Shura. You need political capital with the Hoshidans, which you do not have, and you need an army, of which your own is too small and disorganized to drive your conquerors out."

"What are you saying, lord?"

Prince Xander gestured with his hand and the woman with the axe shut the door. When the crown prince continued, his voice was lower. "Your realm is not lost, Shura, because the soul of your people lives on. You believe that you can restore them to what they were, and I think that you are right. But here, in Nohr, in  _my_ land, there is a sickness that is afflicting the soul of the country. A cancer is growing in Windmire, and it is strangling the life from my people. It will kill my nation, more completely than the betrayal of Mokushu killed Kohga, and I will not let that happen, not if I have to pull the sun out of the sky and boil away the oceans. The world will be sundered before the soul of Nohr is allowed to die. Do you understand?"

Shura thought he did, but shook his head anyway. Better ignorance than presumption, let the crown keep talking.

"So be it. Let me put this in terms that will be easier for a man of your predilections to grip: I have a job for you."


	5. Grudges and Delays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the march to the capital is interrupted.

The vanguard was the place where Corrin felt most comfortable, at the head of the army, first to face down the danger that she would be exposing her troops to. She knew, on some level, that this was a foolish thing, and that she could no better protect her troops from the front with her body than she could from the train with a wise tactical decision, but she would not allow herself the luxury of more safety than was afforded to the meanest soldier under her command. In the beginning of the campaign there had been arguments against this, reasons (first calmly spoken and later shouted in anger) that such foolhardiness was to the detriment of the entire military force under her, but now none would gainsay her. They had seen her as she stepped out of the room of the Rainbow Sage, had seen the glow of the Noble Yato as she cleaned the blade in the camp, and knew her for what she was: the arbiter of fate, whose choices would decide the world's course. So they followed her then, in the woods south of Windmire, returned by magic only days after they had left.

Elise and Sakura trailed her, Sakura seated behind Elise on Jasmine, uncomfortable but trying her best not to show it while Elise talked happily about the woods, about the food of Nohr and the culture she wanted to share, about nothing in particular. Corrin was glad to have both of them there, took comfort in their presence in a way she couldn't take comfort from Ryoma, who had been so open to her and so ready to fulfill the role of brother but who stood in the shadow of Xander's care for her, and had only argued a little when the two of them had insisted on riding with her at the front. She wanted to protect them, but in truth had little reason to refuse them; Elise had taken up magic tomes as if she had been born to them, laying waste to the illusions that had guarded the Rainbow Sage, and Sakura had raised bow and arrow with trembling hands that grew steadier every day. Each of them clung to her, Elise to preserve the relationship they'd had since they were very small and Sakura to try to get some answer to the affection in her heart, and she found she could refuse them very little. So they rode with her.

"We will reach Windmire by nightfall," Corrin said.

"Isn't... isn't that dangerous?" Sakura tried very hard not to stutter when talking to her, thought Corrin offended by her nervousness. "We can't just march up to the gates of the Nohrian capital, can we? We'd bring down the entire military on us."

"There are ways into the city that don't require using any of the gates!" Elise was eager at the idea, excited by the prospect of making progress, of avoiding conflict, and Corrin was relieved to have her here. "It would be hard to get the whole army through, but I bet that we could get some of us in without even being seen."

"We may do that, then." Corrin turned the idea over in her head. It did make sense; the force she had with her was strong enough, but she didn't think that she would be able to take on the standing Nohrian army, not all at once. "Elise, what are the chances that Xander and the others would be able to help us? Would they join their forces with ours if we tried to storm the city?"

"I don't know," Elise said, and Corrin wondered why she sounded so sad. "Xander said he didn't have very many troops that were loyal just to him, right? And I don't know that he'd fight Father anyway."

"Then we may have to rely on a small strike force." Corrin turned the lists over in her head, thinking of the people she would choose for the mission; Elise would need to be there for knowing the routes into the city, and she would want Saizo and Kaze and Kagero, and she would need the strengths of all of her siblings if it came to a fight. It had never occurred to her, and still did not, that they might come up against a battle that they could not win with a diminished force. The fact of their goal was enough to drive her forward regardless, to seek the justice demanded by the bodies of the innocent strewn in the broken ruins of a city square. It was a fact that Garon would fall; her only question was what force to bring to bear against him to ensure that fall. Everything else would be as it would.

There was a sound of spellcraft being woven, mystic energies coming together in patterns too intricate for Corrin to fully comprehend, and then there was a flash of light some fifty yards ahead of her. She held up her hand for a halt, and the entire body of the army came to a stop, the cacophony of footsteps dying away.

"Well if it isn't our own little Princess Traitor, returned to us like a dearly missed rash." Iago stood before a great tree, his arms spread wide as if to embrace her, though he was standing far enough away that she would not be able to rush him down before he teleported again. He was, as near as could be told, alone, and his face was twisted into a mask that served as a parody of jollity.  "Back from your visit with the Rainbow Sage, hrm?"

"Iago," she said, and drew the Yato, which hummed pleasantly in her grip. "We have no time for you. Get out of our way and I will let you live."

"Let  _me_ live? Lady Corrin, you must be joking. Ah, in fact, let me take a moment to remind you." He theatrically raised his right hand, pad of his thumb pressed against his middle finger, and the  _snap_ was so clean and clear and loud that it echoed in the quiet of the woods.

There was a strangled cry behind Corrin, and an indignant shout.

"What in the world is—?" She turned, and Takumi was standing behind Azura, his forearm pulled tight against the singer's throat. Azura was trying to pull his arm away, in vain, and Takumi stared at nothing with a blank expression on his face, the same distant emptiness that he had had once before. " _Takumi!_ What is the meaning of this? Are you still possessed?"

Over the noise of the army suddenly moving and soldiers moving to encircle their prince while bereft of options by his identity, Corrin heard Iago laughing. "Of  _course_ he's still possessed, you naive fool. Your dear brother has been under the sway of this magic the entire time, just waiting to be manipulated by the spells King Garon taught me. He was the one who fed me information on your movements... though I will admit that reconnaissance has been on hold ever since Lord Leo decided he would keep an eye on me. Tsk." A flash of irritation, and then the grin was back. "Still! This is just as good, isn't it? There's one of the men you betrayed your king for, and he is strangling one of the  _women_ you betrayed your king for. Whose life will you choose, Corrin? Will you murder your brother to prevent this killing?"

"Corrin!" Azura heaved with her entire body, just enough to draw a breath, then gagged again as Takumi pulled back. "Corrin, I just need a second, I need to," and she coughed.

"Iago!" She wheeled on him, weighing the Yato in her hand, twisting the grip in her fingers. She thrust the blade out, holding the tip toward him.

The words on her tongue were lost as Elise's voice cut through the tumult. "Iago! You will release Prince Takumi right now!" Sakura hopped off of Jasmine's back, and Elise sat tall and straight on her horse.

"Princess Elise," Iago said, all sweetness, of the kind that could curdle at any moment, any breath. "How good to see you are still alive! All of us had feared that the Hoshidans had done such  _terrible_ things to you during your captivity. But that is at an end, now. Step over here next to me, Princess, and we will away to your fam—"

The fireball exploded in his face, the light and heat forcing Corrin to shield her eyes, the concussive wave rolling across the forest floor, flattening grass and shaking the trees.

"YOU!"

A second impact, a thunderbolt that split the air and boiled the smoke outward from Iago, whose arms were crossed in front of his face, his mask cracked and his clothes aflame. Corrin looked to Elise, and Jasmine was rearing up and Elise was still casting from the beast's back.

"WILL!"

A third explosion, more fire, the heat making Corrin take several steps back. The power Elise was throwing around was absurd—had she always been this strong?

"RELEASE HIM!"

Now the air pressure shifted, becoming something else, and the heat and wet were sucked out of the atmosphere. The trees nearest to Iago groaned and then cracked as sap exploded from their trunks, made to expand by a sudden cold. He was still protecting himself through sheer force of will, Corrin could see his teeth bared with the strain of withstanding the arcane power leveled against him. Then icicles exploded in front of him, and there was another concussive wave, and this one sent him sprawling, spinning and skipping over the ground as if he had been struck by the club of a giant.

Azura gasped again behind them, coughing, and when Corrin looked Takumi was blinking, the light back in his eyes, looking at his hands.

"I don't care how your magic works, and I don't care if Takumi  _is_ a stupid bully who's mean to me and shot my brother!" Iago was pushing himself back up to his feet, his face bloodied and his eyes screaming murder. "You won't use that kind of horrible, underhanded magic and then claim to act in the name of my family or Nohr! I won't allow it!"

Azura drew a breath as if to sing, and then Takumi placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered to her. He must have told her he was all right, because Azura's stance relaxed and she coughed again, rubbing at her throat.

"Ah. Hahaha!" Iago stood again, and exhaled, and his magic flowed over himself and his wounds began to close. "I should have expected this, yes! It seems that being around the Hoshidans has had its effects on you, Princess. A terrible tragedy, for I will have to report to your father and your brothers that you were lost, tragically killed by the Hoshidans before I could come to your rescue!"

"Don't be a fool, Iago." Corrin took a few tentative steps toward him, gauging whether or not he would try to run, if he'd be able to work his magic before she was upon him. "You are hopelessly outnumbered. Surrender and you will be treated fairly."

Now his laughter was manic, nearly crazed, and his magic began to flow off of him in waves. "Surrender? To this paltry rabble you call an army? Why would I ever surrender when I have the fruits of Nohrian research—"

The ground exploded all along the perimeter, and hulking shapes hauled themselves out of the churning soil. The dust had not even settled before they began to roar, and Corrin realized they were flanked on every side by Faceless.

"—and the secret armies of the illustrious King Garon!"

Worse than the Faceless, worse by far was the shimmer that hung in the air all about the army, a shimmer of many parts that gave off vapors with impressions like purple fire, shimmers that would resolve into the shapes of men and women if viewed from the corner of one's eyes. Archers in the trees, and berserkers and generals upon the ground, a collection of armor that would shine if the light did not pass through it, of weapons that would only be visible once they were soaked with blood. Corrin could not guess at their numbers with any confidence, counting them was impossible, but she  _thought_ that the invisible army had them outnumbered three to two. Add in the Faceless, and...

" _Form a perimeter!"_ She turned from Iago, gestured with her hands while screaming at the top of her lungs. "Heavy infantry and spearmen on the outside, archers and mages on the second line, and get our healers in the center! Rally to Ryoma! Rally for Hoshido!"

* * *

"For Hoshido!" the worms called out, their voices raised in unison, and Iago brought his hands together and the forces under his power slammed into the Hoshidan line. Steel rang against steel, and there were eruptions of magic on both sides that sent bodies flying through the air. Already he heard screams, of rage and pain and fury, and the sound stoked a fire in his brain the likes of which he had not felt in a long time.

Iago was not a military commander; his calling had always been higher than that, and the particular details of any one engagement were better left to lesser minds more suited to those pursuits. Still, even without formal schooling, he recognized an advantaged situation when it was playing out in front of him, and the Hoshidan army tightening against itself as the pressure of the invisible warriors and noble Faceless forced the battle into a smaller and smaller area? Why, that was as advantageous as these little soirees ever got.

The pain in his chest and arms and face were fading ( _damn that girl, how could she be that powerful at that age_ ) but the humiliation held onto him like claws sunk into his flesh, pulling at his thoughts like physical objects. He had come here for Corrin, to bring her to Nohr in shackles or else in pieces, but now he was looking at the Princess Elise across the churning riot of bodies and metal. She was wielding her staff in her right hand and a tome in her left, at one moment restoring the lives of those closest to her and in the next hurling death over the front lines. Every time she extended her left hand there was an eruption of power and a Faceless simply exploded like a bomb or else a shower of invisible bodies were sent flying, and all around her troops were fighting harder, drawing strength from her presence, they were  _protecting_ her from the enemies at their front but they would not protect her from  _him_.

"Oh, yes, princess," he said, his voice barely a hiss, not even audible to himself over the sounds of battle before him. "You think yourself protected there, wielding magic and knowledge that should have never been yours, but I will show you the error of your arrogance. Such things I am going to show you, Elise, such  _indignities_..."

The arrow that passed by his ear smelled of ozone and glowed like lightning, the heat of it scoring his cheek and singing the hair on the side of his head. It sailed off into the unknown, never losing its speed or dipping in its trajectory. He followed its path with his eye, and in the heart of the Hoshidan forces he saw Takumi, Fujin Yumi in hand. Azura was singing for him, and he was drawing another arrow. The prince's anger, his inadequacy, had been the fertile bed in which the seed of dark magic had grown so wildly, but when Iago reached out to his thoughts now he felt nothing, found no place where his magic could find purchase. Rage and focus had driven out that weakness, at least for now. Not that it would matter.

"Idiot boy." The second arrow flew and Iago dipped around it, dodging out of its way just as he had practiced for so long. "Do you think you can really strike a practiced sorcerer with your little sharpened sticks? Let me show you how wrong you are!" He called on his magic, Ginnungagap hissing in his hands, and the exhilaration of power filled every inch of his body as he flung it forward.

* * *

Ryoma did not hear the eruption of fire behind him, did not feel the heat at his back. Any buffeting force on his body was as nothing, crashing meaninglessly against defenses that had become insensate, all the world reduced to his hands, to the Raijinto that he held, to the enemies who stepped before him. He cut across the body of one of the Faceless, heaving his blade with such force that it was sent careening back into its own line, crushing smaller bodies beneath it. A berserker slipped into its place (invisible but it was a berserker, he knew from the sound of its feet on the ground and the way the silhouette of its axe sailed in its hand) and he turned his body to let a blow sail by him. No, he did not hear or feel the eruption behind him, too absorbed in the fact of battle.

But he heard his brother scream.

The High Prince lashed out with all the power of the Raijinto, and a chorus of thunder cut through the lines in front of him, staggering an entire section of the enemy, buying a moment's respite. He looked back, and Takumi was reeling, his clothes aflame, and Sakura was already dancing next to him, calling down the healing power of her magic with her Sun Festal. Takumi was wounded, but would live; the danger still existed, and might strike again; that danger was from the Nohrian sorcerer who commanded this horde; these things Ryoma realized in less time than it took for his heart to beat once, than for the space in front of him to be filled by another body seeking his death.

"Kagero! Saizo!" They were already there, at his side, and said nothing but continued throwing their shuriken out into the throng. "Hold this position! Do not let one of these things take a single step past you!"

"Yes, lord Ryoma," they said together, and he pulled back from the front line and they filled the gap left by him, Kagero stepping forward with blade in hand while Saizo continued raining death from behind her.

" _Scarlet!_ " His voice was lost in the din, and could not have carried, but as soon as the name left his lips he heard a wyvern's roar from the other end of the melee, and then the beating of massive wings. Scarlet and her mount leaped into the air, the sun catching in the jeweled glass that she used to decorate her her armor and her weapon, and his breath caught in his chest when he looked at her. Their eyes met, and she hauled on the reins, and her wyvern dove and landed next to Ryoma so heavily that the ground shook.

"Yes, Prince Ryoma?" She was so casual, her face open in a beaming smile, and he realized this was where she shone, where she felt she belonged, and he believed it of her. On the battlefield, allowed to make war, she was magnificent.

"Can you get me past the enemy line? Would you be able to carry me to where Iago is standing?"

She stood on her saddle, surveyed the line at a glance. "Almost nothing but ground units out there. One or two pegasus knight between us and him, but the real problem is the archers. If we're going to make it I need a clear path."

Corrin flew past both of them, dragonstone clenched in her fist. "You'll have it!"

Scarlet reached out with her hand, and Ryoma took it and let himself be hauled up onto the saddle behind the rider. He heard the sound of Corrin's transformation just before she crashed into the Faceless.

* * *

Limp archers flashed in and out of visibility, tossed into the air on the antlers of a rampaging dragon, and Iago hissed under his breath to see the Lady Corrin in that shape. The power she carried inside of her was well incredible, and he could not help but wonder, in an academic way, what the explanation for it was. None of her siblings seemed to be able to do that. The question, the  _mystery_ of that ability, was enough to make him think that it would be worth bringing her in alive, putting her to the question and extracting all the knowledge there was to know about her. That would be worth it, if he could manage it. He did not think he would bother.

The question became moot as a wyvern, bedecked in the colors of Cheve, hurtled from the Hoshidan line. Lances reached up to thrust at it but were knocked aside almost casually by the axe of its rider, whose eyes were fixed on Iago with a singular, predatory intensity. More, someone else was on the beast's back, and even now standing in the saddle as its wings beat against the air, carrying it higher, and Iago saw the shape of the High Prince of Hoshido as he drew that obscene lightning blade.

Iago unleashed his magic as Ryoma leaped, and the explosion rocked the air beneath the wyvern but managed to hit not beast nor rider nor passenger, and Ryoma's eyes were fixed on him as he fell, the Raijinto held above his head.

Iago shrieked as he leaped out of the way, and Ryoma's sword came down on the spot where he had been standing a moment before, and it felt and sounded like he had dodged a thunderbolt.

"Get  _back!_ " he shrieked, throwing out his hands and unleashing a wave of fire and death at the prince, who swung his sword through Iago's magic just as he might swing through the empty air. The prince raised the sword and then stepped forward and slashed with one motion.

To be struck by magic was one thing; that feeling, of raw power made to take shape, was something Iago understood, something he had become inured to. He could take a magic bolt as well as anyone on the continent, and knew it. But the Raijinto was a sword first and a magic weapon second, and when the tip of the blade passed over his flesh he could  _feel_ skin and muscle parting in its passage, shallow and undangerous but incredibly painful, and he shrieked again as his blood sprayed through the air.

"No! No, get back! Help me! Somebody help me!" The Hoshidan prince stepped forward calmly, his face impassive, his eyes wide and attentive and terrible. "Please! You have to understand I don't have a choice, I'm just following orders, I'm sorry for what I did to your brother! Please!"

An invisible warrior rushed toward Ryoma's back, axe raised, and the high prince turned and slashed and the warrior ceased to exist in a spray of fire and lightning. But there were more behind it, and then more still, charging,  _stampeding_ , bolting past the High Prince without paying any attention to him, continuing past Iago, sparing no time or energy for him either.

"Wait! Wait, what are you fools doing? Come back here and protect me!"

* * *

The Faceless turning and running was the moment where Corrin realized the enemy was in full retreat; before that moment she had been unsure, thinking that perhaps the regrouping of the invisible warriors precipitated a push from one of their more vulnerable flanks, but when the Faceless disappeared into the woods as a body the truth became apparent.

"The enemy is in retreat!" She resumed her own shape, held the Yato aloft over her head, and raised her voice to be heard over the sudden roar of the army. "We have driven back the Nohrian vanguard! We are victorious!"

She looked to Iago in time to see him screaming in rage and confusion and fear, clawing at his cheeks as he and Ryoma both watched the Nohrian forces disappear into the woods in the direction of the capital. Then she saw as Iago called on his magic, enshrouding himself in light only a second before Ryoma turned on him, and the Raijinto flashed as the magic erupted—

And Ryoma was left standing alone, having cut only empty air.

"Damn it." Corrin spat on the ground. "We're going to regret not killing him, I think."

"What happened?" Sakura, who had stayed near to her even as she charged into the front of the lines, was visibly shaking with the stress of the battle, but did not let it show in her voice.

"Yeah!" Elise was  _not_ shaking, and the men and women around her were still at attention, as if prepared to protect her. "One second we were fighting for our lives, and the next they all just up and leave? That doesn't make  _any_ sense."

"I agree." Corrin looked to the woods, past where Ryoma and Scarlet were speaking with their heads leaned together. "They ceased obeying Iago, there at the end. If the magic calling them had broken, though, I'd think that they would have just disappeared or returned to the earth or fallen apart. But they were headed toward the capital, and at full speed."

Sakura chewed on her lip for a second, rod clasped tightly in her hands. She wanted desperately to tend to the wounded (they did not seem to have any dead, which Corrin was too winded to even be thankful for) but first she had to help her sister, and Corrin loved her in that moment. "Could something have called them?"

"Maybe. I think you might be right. Scarlet." She turned to look across the distance, where Ryoma and Scarlet were speaking to each other in hushed tones, and their body language pained her at having to interrupt them. "Scarlet!" The Chevan looked up, and Ryoma stood at attention too. "I want to know why those Faceless and the rest ran like that. I think something might be happening at the capital. Can you get above the tree line and have a look? Your wyvern is faster than any of the pegasi."

Scarlet did not even need to shout her assent; she was back on her wyvern's back and in the air immediately, rising above the trees almost before the order was fully spoken. Ryoma walked back toward the front of the line, his face red, and in any other situation Corrin thought she might have teased him.

Before he had even reached the main group Corrin heard the beating of leathery wings, but it was too soon for Scarlet to be back surely, and she looked up and saw that there was smoke in the air, snaking through the sky in lighter and darker shades that crisscrossed the uniform darkness of the Nohrian sky.

Scarlet appeared over the trees only a moment later, and she was pointing back in the direction of the city, and Corrin knew what she would say, and already she was running and the army began to move behind her.

"Fires! There are fires in Windmire! The capital burns!"


	6. Blood and Thrones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Nohrian siblings fight for the soul of their nation.

How many times had Effie walked through these halls? Hundreds, or thousands, but only rarely the one leading to the outside of the throne room. The antechamber was the normal waiting space for the retainers of the Nohrian royalty, but Princess Elise had had so few formal audiences with King Garon that Effie's familiarity with it, and the path leading to it, was only passing. She would have expected the other retainers to be more sure of themselves, more calm, but on all of their faces she saw the same nervousness that she felt; even Niles kept looking around, checking corners as if expecting some attack, and Niles  _never_ showed how nervous he was.

Effie and Arthur had not been able to follow Princess Elise into traveling with the Hoshidans, even though they had argued with her for as long as could be allowed, and so Prince Xander had attached them to his retinue. They walked at the front of the guard alongside Peri and Laslow, feeling out of place and strange. The rear guard, walking behind Niles and Odin, was made up of two people Effie didn't recognize, an enormous scar-faced bear of a man in general's armor and a blonde woman whose sweet expression belied the tightly corded muscles of her arms and the wicked curve to the axe at her hip. Apparently Prince Leo had brought these two in from the border, specifically seeking them out because of their combat records and their reported ability to keep secrets.

Secrets were the order of the day, now; every soldier walking behind the royal siblings had taken a vow of silence with regards to their activities of late, and even then had been given next to no information about what was happening unless they absolutely needed it. Effie had been too focused on her training to try to unravel the threads of the mystery, but Arthur was both watchful and unlucky enough that he had picked up bits and pieces of what was happening, and when she pressed him for information he had been silent. From Arthur, that meant very specific possibilities, and the most likely of those was sedition. Effie did not care, had never cared, and could not be forced to care so long as she worked toward being reunited with Elise; every breath she took was toward that end, and she would tear down Krakenburg with her bare hands if that was required to see the Princess again.

So they marched together, they ten elite soldiers of Nohr and three of the four royal siblings that they served, and there were no guards posted in the hallways and Effie could not have guessed as to why. Camilla was seated upon her wyvern, as was Beruka her own, and Prince Xander and Prince Leo and Peri and Selena all rode their horses, so that the cavernous hallways leading to the throne room seemed to be serving their proper purpose. Still, Effie thought, having to jog to keep up with the pace set by the others, even though the architecture of the palace seemed designed specifically to accommodate such a procession, it was impossible to see it as anything but a troop marching to war. What were they doing here? She looked to Arthur, whose smile had vanished and who looked only ahead, and pushed the question from her mind. Whatever happened would happen; she would do her duty by Princess Elise.

After too short a time they were in the antechamber. The door to the throne room towered over them, black wood and darker iron; there was a bar on the other side of the door, she knew, and with it in place those doors would be as difficult to breach as the front gates of the castle. As large as the doors were, though, they did not subtract from the enormity of Prince Xander's presence as he dismounted in front of them, or as Camilla and Leo did the same on either side of him. All three of the royal siblings turned, facing their retinue, and there was a long moment of silence. Camilla and Leo seemed at ease, bathing in the relaxation and quiet that came before a calamity, but Xander was eyeing every warrior before him as if weighing their worthiness anew.

"Today we will change the course of history," Xander said, and his voice was low but it filled the hall. "There is a sickness in Nohr, and together we will see our homeland healed. Each of us has our part to play, each as vital as the other. Whether or not we will play this part is down to each of us, to our loyalties, and to the things we hold most dear." He looked directly at her, and she stood straighter. "Effie. You are no less dutiful than any retainer who has ever served this kingdom. Let me ask you: where lies your first loyalty?"

"To Princess Elise!" She barked it out; she hadn't meant to, and Arthur on one side of her and Beruka on the other actually flinched, but it was so true and so perfect she couldn't do anything else.

The Crown Prince's attention was careful, measured, and his words were soft, carrying either promise or menace or both: "Not to Nohr?"

"My lord." She stood up even straighter, willing her back to stretch, to make her tall enough to stand under his consideration. "I was born to Nohr, and I love my country, and I will fight and die for it, but... but for me, Princess Elise  _is_ Nohr. Without her, without serving her, my life is meaningless."

"I see." He looked out to the rest of them, and the pressure fell off of her and she breathed out. She hadn't known she was holding her breath, even. "And the rest of you? Where do your loyalties lie?"

Instantly, far to Effie's right, Peri drew her sword and held it up in a salute to Xander, her expression beatific and childlike and joyous. Laslow muttered something under his breath, then drew his own sword and did the same. It went down the line that way, each of the retainers drawing their weapons and holding them up, and down at the far end Effie heard the new woman say "Sure, why not," as she held her axe up. Effie's salute was to Xander, but in her heart she saluted Elise, and knew that Arthur next to her was doing the same.

"Oh, my sweet girls." Princess Camilla's voice cracked and she hid her eyes behind her hand, and Prince Leo apparently did not have the ability to speak at all but his eyes were wet and shining.

"So be it. Each of you is the very pride of Nohr, and among the finest men and women I have ever known. Your mission today is simple: make sure that no one passes through this door, at  _all_ costs. We will step through it, and we will bar it behind us, and you will hear things and you will ignore them, and you will be attacked by the elite guard of the Nohrian army and you will repel them for as long as it takes for our work to be done. Do you understand?" Silence, a loyal silence, a silence that hung thick in the air, and Xander cleared his throat. "Peri, you will be in command. Do not let this door open until myself or one of my siblings commands it. May the gods protect you all."

Effie stood, breathing hard, not understanding the purpose of all of this but understanding  _her_ purpose, the entire course of her life funneled down into this one moment of perfect clarity. She was Elise's shield; now, with Elise absent, she would be the shield of Nohr, the shield that guarded against the ills that afflicted the kingdom. She was no fool, knew what it was that Prince Xander spoke of, knew that if things went wrong then all of them would die, either in this hallway or on the gallows for treason, but before then she would be a shield, and she would carry her princess's name on her lips all the way to the afterlife.

Xander and Camilla and Leo all lead their mounts to the huge doors, and Niles ran to his lord and said something into Leo's ear, and Leo turned to him and looked him in the eyes and spoke a command but Effie did not hear it. Peri was already barking commands in her childish lilt, and Effie fell in at the center of the line as ordered but she did not hear that either. She could hear the thunder, the pounding roar of her blood surging through her body, and without thinking she reached underneath her armor and unfastened knot after knot after knot. To her left and her right the other retainers looked at her, and heavy weights hit the ground over and over again, sliding out from beneath her breastplate and her pauldrons and even her gauntlets, and when she had dropped three men's worth of iron onto the floor she hopped back and forth from foot to foot, the fire was lit in her belly and she felt lighter than air, the enemy was coming, she could  _feel_ them coming, and she gripped her spear in her hands and whispered her princess's name.

* * *

Niles stepped up to Leo and asked for his orders and kissed his lord softly on the side of the mouth. Leo turned to him, and no one could say what passed between them then. After a moment the prince said, "Go. Start this. We will end it." Then he turned away, and Niles smiled and darted across the antechamber, out into the hallway, to the nearest window. He took out a special weighted arrow, wrapped its head in an oil-soaked cloth, and lit it. This burning arrow he took to the window, drew, and fired into the night. Then he returned to the antechamber, to take up his position at the door.

The perpetual darkness of the Nohrian sky meant that a flaming arrow could be seen for miles, but people never turned their gazes skyward so one still needed to know where to look; Shura, standing in a guard tower halfway across Krakenburg, knew where to look. He saw Niles's signal, smiled grimly, and issued orders to the men gathered with him, the major leaders of every gang in the kingdom's capital. Each of them rushed from the room, hungry for blood and for plunder, and Shura watched the arrow fall for the long moments before it disappeared into the shadows of the streets.

All around the city, guard's barracks were suddenly barred, and patrols were silently and non-lethally neutralized. The standing army of Nohr found itself suddenly blind as reports stopped coming in, and it took them a long time to realize what was wrong; by the time they were organized, the entire thing had already ended.

Standing atop the guard tower, Shura saw a mass of bodies flooding into Windmire's front gate, and at first glance he thought it was the Hoshidans but it was not; the Faceless were unmistakable, and the flashing, burning shapes that flitted around them were like something out of a nightmare. Fear seized him, and he knew that the plan put in place by Prince Leo would work out, so he fled down the tower and toward Krakenburg.

There was fighting in the streets, but not a great deal; some of the guard forces mustered before their barracks could be barred, and in the chaos the gangs and the guards set fire to buildings in the residential area. It was lucky that no one was actually in any of those buildings, having retreated to the tunnels beneath the city weeks ago, but smoke rose and choked at the air and Shura ran, ran with all the gnarled strength of his aging body. Something was happening, and he knew that he would be needed, though he could not have said why.

Perhaps that was simply the way of fate, whispering in the ears of its chosen players.

* * *

Xander pushed open the door to the throne room, and lead his horse inside, and Camilla and Leo followed with their mounts before he shut the door behind them. The sound of the door closing was enormous; the sound of the bar sliding shut, in comparison, was smooth and clean and comforting, and as he let go of it he felt at peace. That peace lasted only briefly, and he turned to face his father.

King Garon was seated upon the throne, his fingers digging divots in the armrests, and Hans stood at his side, bug-eyed and stupid-looking and his face still bandaged from the beating that Camilla had given him. Fury rolled off of the king in waves that were nearly physical, and the heat of his anger was so intense that Xander could feel it on his skin as the two of them locked eyes from across the room.

"My son," Garon said, and his voice was two boulders being ground together, violence and energy barely constrained. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

"Father." Xander lead his horse by its reins, and Camilla and Leo did like on either side of him. "I have come to speak with you about the fate of Nohr."

"You presume a very great deal, Prince Xander." Garon did not move from his seat, but the anger had turned to something else, some dark magic, and now it  _was_ a visible thing. Hans did not seem to notice; he only had eyes for Camilla, and the look on his face could have been misconstrued for fear but Xander knew that the greater part of it was a petty, cruel hate. "If your thoughts on policy or troop deployment were needed, I would seek them out. As I have not done so, you may assume you are not welcome to this conversation and  _see yourself out._ "

"I will not. Too long have we stood silent, Father, as advisers have lead you astray on what is best for this kingdom, for the future of the nation. I will be heard, and I will be heard on behalf of Nohr. This war with Hoshido is draining our reserves, and their counteroffensive is cutting into the supply lines from our vassal states. Our people have fled Krakenburg, father, seeking refuge beneath the capital to avoid the too-harsh gaze of our own military. The most stalwart and loyal of our soldiers have expressed horror and doubt at the appearance of the Faceless, at how essential dread magic has become to our every motion."

Garon smiled. "So?"

Xander thought nothing, could think nothing in response to that. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean," Garon said, "is that none of this is news to me. Idiot boy, did you think that aught happened in this kingdom without my knowing? If the loyalty of our soldiers begins to waver, then drive them out or execute the dissenters. If supply lines run dry, then the people will tighten their belts until we can reestablish them. If some starve in the interim, that is simply the cost of war. If our people hide in fear," and the smile grew wider, and wider, the king's eyes bright and glassy, "then that is only natural. Why shouldn't they know terror at the attention of their betters? What populace more obedient than one that lives in fear of its own obliteration?"

A flash of light, a shifting of the air, and Iago stood on Garon's opposite side. The sorcerer was bleeding, disheveled, and so terrified that he did not even notice the room around him.

"King Garon! King Garon, the armies of the Faceless and the shadows deserted me at the last moment, when victory was at hand! I was nearly killed!"

"That is because I have summoned them, you spineless worm," Garon said. He did not look at Iago, never looked away from Xander. "I have called them to me because I am about to have need of them. If you had died, it would only be because you were not competent to live."

Iago writhed in indecision and fury and pain and fear, and Xander nearly felt sorry for him. "But, but my king, the Hoshidans! They're on their way here! Nothing stands between them and Windmire!"

Garon laughed. "If those fools led by their idiot princess want to make war with me, then—"

"You will meet with them." Xander dropped the reins of his horse and approached the throne.

"What did you say to me?"

"You will meet with them, Father. You will meet with them, and you will negotiate the terms of peace with their crown prince, or appoint me to do so on your behalf. This war will be ended today, and the lives of Nohrians and Hoshidans will be preserved in kind."

There, the silence, that perfect silence of absolute terror as Iago and Hans both stared at him and the king's armrests cracked at the strength of his grip. "And if I do not?"

"Then you will abdicate the throne to me, and I will negotiate the peace as regent. No more blood will be spilled, and you will be remembered as a king who ceded power for the good of Nohr."

"And. If. I. Do. Not?"

Xander said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Garon rose from the throne, and he was titanic, so much larger in truth than even his bearing could suggest. He held the Bölverk in his right hand, and the air seemed to retreat from it. Hans flinched away from the king, but still hefted the Aurgelmir, its weight so terrible that the burly fighter could barely lift it. Iago, still too furious and too frightened to understand what was happening, looked stupidly between Garon and Xander, waiting for some explicit instruction.

The king did speak, then, low and sure and... pleased. "Kill them."

Massive wings beat once and Marzia's scream filled the throne room as the wyvern lunged the entire length of the chamber, jaws wide, and Camilla was standing on her saddle with a silver axe shining in her hands. Marzia went for Iago, who shrieked, and Camilla roared as she brought her axe down—but Iago was gone in a flash of light, fled completely from the battle. There was a roar to Camilla's right, and she pulled up hard on the reins and Marzia took to the air just as Garon brought the Bölverk down in a stroke that shattered the stone of the floor in a spiderweb pattern for ten paces in every direction. The king looked up into the air at his daughter, and Hans screamed and charged at Leo as the younger prince was mounting his horse, and Xander's hand went to Siegfried's grip.

Siegfried's presence filled the room as Xander drew it from its scabbard, and the entire castle shook as its dark power called out to be wielded. The weight of it was incredible, as it had always been incredible, and as Xander hefted it he felt his boots straining to keep from splitting under the pressure. His father turned to face him then, eyeing the sacred blade in his hands, and Xander knew that his father was lost to him.

"So be it, boy. If you are so eager to die for the sake of a fool's peace, then death I will give you. Come."

"For the glory of Nohr," Xander said, and he charged his father.

* * *

The invisible horde tore through the city at a speed that no living army could have matched, and every force of bandits or thieves or guards or soldiers there present could only move from their way. Their passage was surreal, dream-like, their almost-visible silhouettes made unsure and nebulous by the fires that were burning all through the city. Their footsteps were a stampede, but that was the only proof that they actually existed. The Faceless that followed in their wake were almost a relief for their concrete reality, their relative familiarity, and that contrast only made the invisible warriors all the more horrible.

A second force arrived at the city gates, lead by a dragon herself flanked by winged horses. None stood in their way, a flowing river of red and white, but even without impediment they would arrive too late.

* * *

Leo pulled back on the reins and his horse danced lightly back, turning and leaping and turning again in a practiced motion as Hans swung his enormous axe once, and then no more. Poor fool of a man, to think that he would be able to kill a master of book and blade using something that slow and heavy. Leo took a moment to watch him, saw him heaving for breath, the strain of his effort to heft the axe in his hands.

"It's too heavy," he said.

"Wh...what?" Hans could barely speak, his breath coming so heavily and so labored that he had to fight for it. His weapon rested on the floor, more of an enormous spike than a proper axe.

"The Aurgelmir. It's too heavy for you—probably too heavy for anyone to use without exhausting themselves. I can see it in how you're holding yourself; you'll need time to recover before you can wield it effectively again." He cradled Brynhildr to his heart, drew power from it, and held out one hand where his magic gathered in a hissing ball of light and heat. "Time is not something I am going to give you."

"Wait, I—" Hans roared in pain as life and light exploded from his feet, the creepers and roots of Brynhildr's power lashing and impaling him from multiple angles, digging into his flesh, dragging him down to the floor with the increased force of gravity. It lasted only for a moment, but that moment was long enough, and Leo could see the agony written on Hans's face as the magic faded away. One more strike like that would be the end, and they would be rid of him for good, but even in the face of that the stupid man was still spitting in contempt as he dragged himself to his feet. "Ha! Maybe you got a point, brat. Still, if you think I'm going down to some pampered snot like, you—"

That is when Marzia landed behind Hans, and the man turned and looked up just in time for Camilla's axe to come down. Leo closed his eyes and looked away as Hans screamed wetly, and then Camilla swung again, and again, and again. Each impact sounded less and less real, more like a sound one would make with one's mouth to imitate the parting of flesh at a blow, but Leo knew better, and he did not look.

"That," Camilla said, "is for trying to hurt my sweet sister." He still did not look up, and then Marzia was between him and Hans's body, and he looked up and Camilla was next to him. "It's all right, sweetheart, you don't have to look. That's what your big sister is here for, right? I don't mind getting my hands dirty."

"I think we're each here to do that," Leo said, and Camilla's soft smile dropped into a hard line but she nodded. This was the agreement between the three of them that had been spoken to no one else: not to their retainers, not to Elise, not to anyone. If things went in the worst possible direction—and they had—then whoever landed the killing blow on their Father would be the sacrificial lamb of their little coup. They would be 'captured' by the other two, tried for crimes against the kingdom, and executed. This had been Xander's idea (who else's could it be?) and he had not budged on it until the two of them had agreed: in order to preserve the legitimacy of their succession, one of them would have to be a murderer, vilified by history as a mad usurper. Perhaps simpler, perhaps cleaner, if they were killed on the spot. Better still, Leo thought, that whoever did it should also be blamed for the war, to help heal the rift between Nohr and its vassal states, between Nohr and Hoshido, between Nohr and the world. A king and one of his children for the well-being of the entire kingdom? There was no choice to be made there, and all three of them had agreed to this.

"We can't let him be the one," Camilla said. "We can't. He's too important, too strong, too noble. The kingdom will need him, little brother, in the days to come."

 _The kingdom will need you, too,_ Leo thought, but he said, "I don't know if we can stop him."

In other lives, other times, other worlds, Xander was the mightiest of his siblings but not so far removed from them that they could not fight at his side. Here, now, in this place, in the collection of circumstances that shaped Corrin into the kind of woman who had chosen justice over her family, the crown prince was the equal of his father, and no fear or duty or love was holding him back.

King Garon swung the Bölverk like an executioner's weapon, and Xander batted the blow aside with Siegfried. The impact shook the castle anew, every exchange making the foundations of the palace groan and scream. A missed blow by the king's axe let out a wave of destructive force that shattered the wall on the other side of the room, and Xander brought down Siegfried in an overhead chop. Garon brought up his axe's haft to block the blow, and the force of it made the ground crack beneath the two of them. There was no wind in that enclosed room but the air howled and whirled, driven into a storm that pulled at Leo's cape and whipped Camilla's hair around her face. The king and the crown prince had their feet set, neither backing off a single step as their weapons clashed over and over, magic peeling off and howling as the two of them roared defiance, screaming in the face of death only millimeters away.

"Gods! It's like watching titans duel." He had to shout, now, to be heard over the tumult. "How are we supposed to affect  _that_ , Camilla?"

She said nothing, only put away her axe and drew a tome from her belt. She watched them, studying them, and Leo looked too but he did not see whatever it was she was seeing; she was the one who knew how to fight in close range, was a master in ways that he wasn't, could see openings that were invisible to him. The sacred sword and the profane axe were blurs of light, extensions of the souls of the men who wielded them, and all the battles of the war surely couldn't compare to the violence of that exchange.

"We will do what we can," she said, and spurred Marzia into the air, fighting through the buffeting winds. Leo kicked his horse into a charge, riding around the perimeter of the room, and lightning split the air between Camilla and their father and Leo prayed to the gods of his ancestors as he called upon the power of Brynhildr.

* * *

Peri had arrayed them, the retainers and the soldiers, at the door between the antechamber and the adjoining hall. She spoke in the same childlike manner as ever, slavered over the prospect of violence the same as ever, but the commands were short and crisp and sensible; she had been groomed for this purpose by the Crown Prince, and it showed. From their position they could only barely hear the fighting in the streets below the castle, but  _well_ did they hear the approach of some army, too fast-moving and too clumped together to be the Nohrian regular. Good, then; they probably wouldn't be killing anyone that they knew, or at least anyone that they  _liked_.

The antechamber stood at the end of a majestic hallway, nearly as wide as the antechamber itself; defending it would be almost impossible, so the doorway was the most reasonable choke point. They would fall back to the main door if they had to, but only if the pressure from the enemy demanded it; having their backs to the wall had its own advantages, but it was also the one situation where it would be clear that they were going to die. None of them were thinking about dying, not in earnest, even those who had been so close to death that they knew the touch of its hand.

Then there was a great rumbling, and the doors of the hallway exploded inward, and a shapeless riot of almost-colors piled in through the doors with the sound of weapons and magic and boots announcing their arrival.

"Get ready!" Peri shouted, wheeling her horse around, putting away her sword for a spear. "Remember your positions! We're going to cut them into itty bitty chunks and bathe in their blood!"

The horde bore down on them, and as they drew closer they became clearer, the retainers saw swords and axes and lances and clubs and katanas and staves and shuriken, positioning of the weapons betraying specific fighting disciplines, the tiniest hints of their nature revealing enough that  they knew who and what they were fighting. The sound of them, though they ran in silence, was enough to drown out the world. They were a wave of bodies, and they would crush anything that stood in front of them as they moved to assist their master, and there was death in front of them.

" _FOR ELISE!_ "

The front line, berserkers and swordmasters and generals, slammed into the center of the retainers—and Effie and Benny and Charlotte pushed back, bodies breaking on their shields as they roared, and Charlote swung out with her axe, screaming like a person possessed, and the soulless horde shrank back from her. Arthur leaped out past them, sliding expertly between the blows of three axes, slashing with his sword, humming a tune that only he could hear.

Beruka's wyvern bugled as she lunged into the fray, armor and bone alike crunching as it grabbed a swordmaster shade in its jaws. She brought her axe down hard on a general, a blow so forceful that its armor shattered like glass, sending its corpse spinning backward into the crowd. Archers took aim at her, bowstrings drawn taut, and then each fell in their turn, some with spears jutting from their chests and others with arrows seeming to sprout out of their bodies.

"Come on!  _Come on!_ The whole lot of you aren't so tough! I could take on all of you by myself!" Selena was laughing as she fired her bow from horseback, the laughter of abandonment and fearlessness, and Laslow laughed with her as he danced, a whirlwind of steel that none of the shades could touch, and Odin spoke his nonsense names as he rained very real death down on his enemies. Niles said nothing, did not even smile, just fired arrow after arrow into the crowd, every shot finding its mark in a throat or an eye or a chest, wherever his target was vulnerable he hit them, and he would not stop. Nothing would stop him.

Effie shifted her shield and deflected an arrow meant for Odin, then hauled back and crushed the archer that had wandered too close, flattening them so completely she thought the corpse had disappeared.

They were lost in the fury of the battle, protecting each other, killing for each other, and Peri shouted her orders while throwing her spears, laughing, laughing, and there was nothing in the world save for that fight. Their lives came down to that moment, that long song of steel clashing against steel, so loud that they could not hear the war being waged in the throne room.

* * *

Xander caught the backswing of his father's axe with his sword blade, twisting both, forcing them up where neither had any leverage. Garon roared, reaching up with his other hand to grab hold of the haft and make a swing, and Xander backhanded him full across the jaw. The impact dented his gauntlet, he had never known how  _strong_ his father was, not in truth, but his hand held and that was enough.

Garon staggered, but only for a second, and then squared his stance again. Xander had never fought his father, never even  _trained_ with him, had always been too terrified by his power and then by his demeanour, but seeing that he had gained the first ground he felt like he might stand a chance. He took a step forward, bringing Siegfried around in a slash—

The air between Xander and Garon exploded, and both of them leaped backward, shielding their faces. Xander looked up, saw Camilla call down the cold, and heard his father roar at the explosion of ice and force that enveloped his body. It did not stop the king, did not even seem to phase him, and he swung his axe hard at the empty air toward Camilla. There was a sound like a candle going out, only louder than a wyvern's scream, and a wave of destructive force flowed out from the Bölverk and ate away at the space between them. Camilla, calmer than could be believed, hauled back on the reins with all the strength of her body, twisting Mariza's head and torso around so that the wyvern tumbled around the blast, letting it splash against the ceiling where it ate away the stone like a caustic fluid. Xander knew that Camilla had learned the Axebreaker stance from Selena, but he would not have guessed that she could do  _that_ with it.

"Not alone, Xander!" Leo was behind him, mounted as Xander was not. "We will not let you kill him alone!"

Brynhildr's power exploded beneath Garon, and the king screamed his fury and swung Bölverk with all the strength in his body. Leo's eyes widened, he threw up a barrier to defend himself, and then Xander leaped in front of him, shield out. The power of the Bölverk, of their father himself, broke upon that shield, splashing and dissipating in the air around him.

"I welcome your help," Xander said, "but do not die in rendering your assistance. Do you understand, Leo? You are not allowed. At least one of us must survive this." Leo had no answer, and Xander did not wait for him but charged again.

Garon anticipated the charge and swung the Bölverk up and around, catching him across his chest. Xander hissed as his armor absorbed the blow, but the force of it shook his ribs in his diaphragm and he could feel something inside of him begin to bleed from the impact. Siegfried's pommel glowed as if the eye suggested by its shape was blazing in anger, and he struck his father in his unprotected ribs. Armor shattered and the sword bit deep, slicing through steel and iron and hauberk together, and tougher than all of these was his father's  _skin_ , which did not yield at the first blow. He heaved with all of his strength and pulled back, and there was a spurt of blood as he cut through the king's hide, and Garon reached out and grabbed hold of his hair and slammed their skulls together.

Stars burst in his vision as he reached out by instinct with his shield hand, grabbing his father by the head and pulling them together for another headbutt—but he aimed lower than his father had, smashing in the king's nose, and as he did this a fireball exploded against Garon's back and the king roared his fury. He turned, meaning to kill Camilla with a sure swing of his axe, but Xander caught him by the shoulder and pivoted on one leg and threw him bodily into the air. Lightning struck the king from two angles then, and Xander's horse screamed as it danced near the door, and he prayed it would not come too close. Garon landed on his feet with a crash, said nothing as he rose, and charged at Xander. The other two were beneath his notice as blood flowed from his nose and from his mouth, his face was lit by the fire in his eyes, the rage that came from a place so deep and so old and so wild that Xander could never have recognized it, and all of that was focused on Xander, only Xander.

Xander prided himself on discipline, but there was no discipline in that exchange, just two men fighting like animals with power that the gods never meant for men to carry. Siegfried was a singing blur in his hands, seeking blood and glory of its own accord, and his father's iron-tough skin could not turn away its bite. The Bölverk cut into him over and over, but he turned it away with his shield, turned it away with Siegfried, much more often than his father managed to ward his own blows. Everything became a red haze, and he understood that this was the end of it, the end of everything, he had finally found the strength to fight for Nohr and that fight was this,  _just this_.

Garon brought the Bölverk down, and Xander twisted around it, locking the back of his shield against the axe's haft. Garon heaved and Xander twisted with his shield, breaking both their grips, sending Bölverk and Xander's lion-crest shield spinning through the air to land yards away, useless. The King looked up as magic exploded around them, creepers crawling up both their bodies unnoticed, and his rage had been replaced by contempt.

"I should have strangled you in your crib, boy."

Xander placed his left hand on his father's shoulder and shoved Siegfried into the king's chest. The tip of the sword split armor, punctured skin, punched through bone, and then did it all again in reverse, sinking in until the hilt stuck against Garon's sternum and the blade stuck out from his back, a crimson exclamation point at the end of the battle. Unbelievably, Garon lived, reaching out and grabbing hold of his son's shoulder. Blood was frothing in his mouth, and his hands were shaking, but his eyes were bright and clear.

"Ah, Xander, my son," Garon said.

"Father."

"You... you would have been... a  _glorious_ servant... to Anankos." Then he leaned in, spat blood onto his son's face, and fell back, his body sliding off of the sword and collapsing onto the floor.

Xander wiped his father's blood from his lips. Some small part of it had gotten into his mouth, and the taste of it was like fire, but he thought nothing of it. He looked down at his father, and felt nothing. Garon still drew breath, but would not for long.

Mariza landed next to him, and Camilla dismounted, and then Leo drew up next to them and dismounted, and the three siblings stood together, looking down at their father as he breathed his last.

"It's over," Xander said, and the other two looked at each other and then at him. "I have slain our rightful king. The line of succession is not yet broken, but it will be if I am allowed to take the throne." In spite of everything, he was still holding Siegfried, had not loosened his grip on it at all. "It has to be ended here." He looked to Camilla, still realized he felt nothing. "Camilla. Will you be the one to end this? Will you be quick?"

"Xander," she said, and he did feel something as his little sister put her arms around him, drew him close to her. What was this pain? "Xander, no."

"We agreed to this. We all agreed it was the best for Nohr. If I die, the rebellion dies with me, and you and Leo and Elise can restore order. Nohr will live on, and you will be better rulers than I could dream of."

"We will think of something else." Camilla did not release him, but he craned his head to look at Leo, who was standing with his arms crossed, Brynhildr once more at his belt. "Losing you is more than Nohr could take, I think."

"Please," Xander said, and he realized he was shaking. "Please, both of you,  _please_. I have failed so much, and so often, and with this last act I have broken the very line of succession, shattered the legitimacy of rule for anyone who would stand with me. Let me atone. Please, just... please let me atone here, now, with this. For all the things I've done, the things I've done in Father's name and in Nohr's name, and all of it is..."

"You will carry those burdens," Camilla said, and her embrace was gentle but her voice was silk drawn across a steel blade. "You will carry them, because your shoulders are the ones that can. We cannot let you set your duties down now."

"Our debts are not so easily forgotten." Leo closed his eyes, shaking from the aftermath of the adrenaline that had been driving him before. "Even if you die here, even if you are justly punished, the things all of us have done in the name of Nohr do not simply cease to be. Our actions are not buried with us. We will have to work to fix it, Xander. All of it. Together."

He was about to protest, protest from the last place at the very pit of his heart, and he was made ashamed by their love for him, and he thought of Corrin and thought that at least he might live long enough to tell her that he was sorry, that it all  _hadn't_ been for nothing.

And there was a laugh, as if from a body the size of a continent, and it echoed off of the floor.

"Oh, my children," Garon said, as all three of them scrambled to their mounts, as they drew their weapons, as his body hauled itself to a standing position, as light flowed off of him like fire. "How you agonize over who should live and who should die. Let me anSWER THE  _QUESTION **FOR YOU**_ "

* * *

They were pushed back to the doors of the throne room, and the antechamber was a field of bodies, invisible corpses that phased in and out of being beneath the shattered Faceless that had arrived after them. None of the defenders had fallen, but now they were harried from all sides, each of them bearing wounds that told the story of how close they were coming. Every wave that came against them broke, bodies were sent spinning and weapons shattered on shields and the dead piled higher and higher, but they were wearing down and they knew it. Peri had stopped laughing a long time ago, and now commanded only with gestures of her hands, and there was no more singing, no more laughter, no more dancing. There was steel on steel and the spray of blood and the chorus of bodies falling uselessly to the ground, hauled out of the way by the endless horde behind them.

"This might be the end," Laslow said, and he turned aside an axe's blow but the impact of it nearly wrenched his shoulder out of socket.

Selena loosed an arrow directly into his attacker's eye, and scoffed. "For  _you_ , maybe.  _Some of us_ have business to attend to after all of this.  _Lives_ to live?" She was soaked in sweat, as all of them were, her hair sticking to her scalp and her clothes, and the smile she managed was tired.

"We're not done yet! None of us are!" Effie, inexhaustible, swung her lance like a club, bowling over three Faceless at a single blow. Charlotte, mask fallen away and axe long since lost in the melee, fell upon one of them with her bare hands. She actually lifted it above her head, screaming, and there was a horrible cracking sound as she broke its spine and threw its corpse at its fellows.

"Maybe not," Niles said, "but we're getting there. Heh. A shame. Felt like I was finally making some headway."

Odin turned, meaning to ask what he was talking about, but their reverie—as much as reverie was possible in that Hell of broken bodies—was shattered by the sound from outside of the antechamber, of eruptions of magic and the screaming of horses and the new clanging of fresh blades.

"No way," Niles said, but now he was grinning again, had paused in the loosing of his arrows as the invisible horde turned toward the new threat. "They couldn't possibly..."

A dragon crashed through the doorway, throwing Faceless about with its antlers, and in its wake the High Prince of Hoshido charged, cutting through Faceless as if they were wheat, each of them falling almost casually as he flitted past them. More and more Hoshidans poured into the chambers, the princes and princesses at the vanguard, and Effie actually broke away from the line at the cry of a particular horse.

"Elise!  _ELISE!_ "

"Effie!"

Elise charged through the doorway on Jasmine's back, swinging lightning like a club, and four strong fighters held close to her to be her defense, cutting down the soldiers and Faceless that came too close. She held out her hand and the thunderbolt split the world and an opening was blasted in the enemy line.

"It's turning into a rout," Laslow said. "Finally."

But Elise was charging forward still, and the dragon and the Hoshidan siblings were right behind her. "Get that door open! We have to help Xander and Leo and Camilla!"

"Well," Peri said, speaking for the first time in what felt like an age, "I'd say she counts as one of Lord Xander's siblings. Effie! Charlotte! Knock it down!"

It is possible that Peri had not meant that literally, but it didn't matter. The two women pulled back as one, Benny widening his stance to take their place on the line now that the enemy was turning to face the attackers at their backs. Effie and Charlotte both charged the doors, voices raised in screams, and the retainers at the second line all ducked and covered their heads as the two of them slammed into the wood and iron with their fists.

The doors exploded inward, shattered as if hit by a bomb, splinters and twisted iron flung into the throne room, the ruined doors swinging hard around their hinges, flinging out the two halves of the broken bar as they slammed against the interior walls.

It was good that the Hoshidans were cutting through the Faceless and the invisible warriors behind them, because every retainer was then arrested by what they saw in the throne room where Hans was a red smear on the floor; where all of the royal siblings were mounted, waging war at the very edge of their capabilities; where King Garon had disappeared; where in his place fought a dragon, not a dragon like Corrin but a dragon like the tales of old, a beast the size of a house with a head that was filled with an awful red light; where Garon's laughter echoed from inside of that terrible body, and told them there was no escape.

They stared and Corrin rushed past them, Yato in hand.


	7. Secrets Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the combined forces of the Nohrians and the Hoshidans wage war with the vanguard of a dead world.

Secrets were the coin by which Azura bought and sold her own life; secrets would kill her; secrets would be her salvation. She had known this from the moment she met Corrin, since the young woman had introduced herself and Azura had seen Mikoto in her face. The pendant she wore, bearer of a sacred power as old as the blood of the dragons, could only unleash its strength through the bearing of that secret, and the power was always leveled with a price, pressing up hard against the curse that protected its ancient confidence. Every time she used it the protection of the secret waned and the potency of the curse remained, and the next time she used it would very probably be her last.

The empty vessel of Garon's body channeled the power of the silent dragon, taking on a monstrous shape that was an echo of Anankos's own power, and Azura saw her death and her salvation.

Princess Camilla plunged into an attack against the dragon, which reared back and smashed her wyvern with its enormous head. She struck its skull with her axe in the exchange, and the blade bounced off, and the wyvern squealed and choked as it was sent careening. Camilla fell from the saddle a moment before her wyvern crashed into the wall and then the floor.

Azura moved her arms in a flowing motion that was followed by her shoulders, her torso, her hips. Her fingertips traced waves in the air, and the waves traveled down her body, and that was the rhythm. The rhythm was first.

Xander swept in by the dragon's side on his horse, charging down its length, scoring its flank with the tip of his sword. Azura saw the the flow of magic there in ways that others could not: she saw the power of the sword, a gift of the Rainbow Sage, and she saw the power of the silent dragon flare and burn where blade met flesh, and she saw some flickering around Xander. She could not say for sure what it was, but she had her suspicions. No matter. With this song she would drive the corruption out, slam shut the door between the worlds, and ensure that if the threat did survive then it would linger in silence, die in silence, even if it took a thousand years.

She sang one clear, clean note, the first note.

Magic glyphs opened in each corner of the throne room and its antechamber, and warriors of a dead kingdom charged forth from the rifts as the power dwelling in Garon sought to protect itself. The Hoshidans rallied under the call of Ryoma, and Hinoka carried her youngest sister into the battle being waged against the dragon, and Corrin struck Garon in his throat with the sword—to no avail. The Yato's blade did not resonate with the power needed to cut through the silent one's magic, but maybe she could help.

She sang the second note, and inhaled for the first word of the secret, and she prepared to let go of her life and she felt very light, very happy. She would sing, and the power she called upon would turn in on itself, and when Garon died the power he carried in him would have nowhere to go, would dissolve, and that would be the end of all. She could see the path laid out in front of her and it was clear and bright and that is why she did not notice the sound of magic behind her, the pressure of a new body forcing the air out and away.

"You," and the word and the music and the rhythm and the magic and the power were lost and she choked and gagged as a staff was pulled hard against her throat. For the second time that day she reached up with her hands to grab at the object pressed against her windpipe, but whoever was holding it heaved back with such savagery she had to strain just to keep from her throat being crushed. Whoever they were, their breath was hot and acrid in her ear. " _You,_ all I have to do is take care of  _you_."

 _Iago_ , she thought, and over the sound of war nobody heard, and past the fury of war nobody saw as he tried so desperately to choke her to death.

* * *

Camilla hit the ground, and a moment later Marzia hit too. Her first instinct was to run to her wyvern, to check to make sure it was not wounded, but in this case she did not need to; the way it was moving was fine, no obvious damage to its legs or its wings or its back, though hitting the wall had dazed it. Another blow like that would do real harm to her, but for now Marzia was fine.

The dragon roared, and the princess looked to the axe in her hands. Good steel trimmed in silver, it should have parted the beast's scales as it could part heavy plate, but she had done it no discernible harm. Something was missing, some essential element that would let them kill this thing.

Camilla looked to where Xander was fighting, and something was wrong with him though she couldn't guess at what, but when he struck with Siegfried there was a spurt of blood, a parting of scales. Most likely magic cast from Brynhildr would have a similar effect, as would those gaudy toys that the princes of Hoshido were waving around in the crowd past the doors.

"Damn," she said to no one. That she did not wield Siegfried was merely one of the vagaries of fate; she would have picked the blade up if she had been born before Xander. Brynhildr was Leo's because she had come to magic too late, as well, and that was reasonable on its face but now it meant she was helpless compared to her brothers and that rankled her like it had never done in her entire life. "If only the fates had blessed Nohr with one more sacred weapon, or I had moved just a tad quicker. Being reduced to the damsel against the dragon just doesn't suit me."

A hissing of power caught her attention, and she turned and looked and there was the Bölverk, still smoking, still radiating force that pushed the air away from it.

Camilla was not as gifted at reading magic as her younger brother, but she was still an accomplished mage and could read the power coming off of the weapon clearly: it was the same power that had flowed from her father's body, the same power that even now held up the thunderous form of the dragon. It was not a power whose source she could recognize, not elemental like the tomes of Nohr or bestial like the scrolls of Hoshido, or even dark like the secret books that only sorcerers read from, but whatever strength flowed from it was old and deep and powerful and terrible. And, what was more, it was unclaimed.

Carefully, legs shaking still from her fall, she walked toward the axe.

* * *

The fire in his head had become an inferno, the blood in his mouth felt like it had seeped into his very veins, carrying the pain and blindness and madness to every corner of his body, everywhere touched by the pumping of his heart. He wanted to fight, but the sound of the fire was tinged with laughter that drowned out the world, and the haze he saw was vaster and more terrible than the dragon. He wheeled his horse, or tried to, and fell from the saddle. He felt himself fall, felt himself stop, but the impact was far removed from his senses.

Siegfried was still clutched firmly in his hand, anchoring him to the physical world, and no force could open his grip. He held to that even as the whiteness swallowed his thoughts, as heat and pain was all he knew.

"Boy." His father's voice, filling the world. "Ah, you poor, foolish child. So proud of your strength, so sure in your  _righteousness_. Did you ever believe that you could stand against what was to come? Did you think to keep the world from me?"

He spoke, and it was like breathing out a cloud of knives that lacerated the inside of his mouth. "I thought to protect Nohr."

The dragon laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

"Even now the power fills you boy, eating away at you and who you are and what little strength you possess. You will fight it, and you will fail. You seek to stop me, to keep the world from me, and you will fail."

"I will," he said, and the laughter tapered off. "I already have. But, Father..." Silence. He had to gather his strength, reach down through the pain. He tightened his grip on Siegfried, and the sword's strength coursed up his arm and into his heart. "Father,  _she will not_."

* * *

Corrin dashed across the distance between the door and the dragon in a breath, leaping high and spinning through the air, Yato held over her head. The dragon was not turned toward her, was focused on someone else, and she brought her weapon down on its side with all the force she could muster.

The blade bounced off, nearly leaping from her hand, and it was all she could do to maintain her grip. She landed hard, staggered, scrambled away from the dragon.

"What!? The Yato had no effect at all!" Thinking out loud, panicked.

The dragon's vast head turned, and one of its eyes (but it was not an eye it was a terrible red light shining out of holes in the beast's head it was  _not an eye_ ) focused on her. "Ah? Is that the little traitor?"

Its voice drowned out every sound of the battle, so huge and loud that it split the head to be near it, but it was unmistakable.

" _Garon?_ "

"Are you really surprised?" It turned its body toward her, shifting on legs the size of oak trees, and it was calm and unperturbed as arrows and bolts of magic bounced uselessly off of its hide. "The blood of dragons runs in my veins, as it does yours." That focus shifted, throwing its light ever so slightly further down. "Aaaahhhh, the Hoshidan secret weapon. Do you mean to try to kill me with that toy?"

Garon moved like a viper, lunging out with claws that could punch through the fortifications of a castle wall, and it was only barely that Corrin managed to duck under the swipe. If she had tried to answer him, lost her breath in speaking the words, he would have bisected her in that moment. She leaped away as his other forelimb smashed the flooring beneath her, shaking the room, sending clouds of dusted mortar into the air. He drew his claw back, digging furrows in the stone, and his laughter was a roar that filled the world.

"Come! Come, bring your little blade against me, see how far your precious destiny can carry you!"

* * *

If Takumi had looked to his right, he would have seen Azura being attacked by Iago, and would have moved to help her, but that was not how it happened. His attention was drawn by the movement of the dragon that the Nohrians were fighting, and he saw a flash of white armor, a blue cape in tatters, a golden sword. He saw his sister leap out of the way of the dragon's reaching jaws and it was impossible, he knew that she would die, who could fight such a thing by themselves? Her feet were like birds in flight, barely touching the ground, and she struck out with the Yato and it only bounced off of the thing's scales.

"Ryoma!"

His elder brother did not look back, or up, but cut with the precision for which he was known, parting a Faceless from its corporeal form as if he were fighting a practice dummy. "What is it, Takumi? Are you wounded?"

"No, not me! It's Corrin! She's fighting that dragon by herself!"

"She's alone?" Ryoma stepped forward twice, slashed twice, slipping underneath the two shadowy berserkers that had been running toward them and nearly bisecting them, and then stepped back to his previous position in the same motion. They fell and still he did not turn his head. "What about the other three Nohrian nobles?"

He hadn't been looking for them, didn't want to expend the energy, but Ryoma was right; they  _should_ have been there, if not fighting with her then at least fighting. The sea of bodies between him and the throne room blocked his ability to see clearly, but that could be remedied. "Just a second," he said as another Faceless was charging uselessly at his older brother.

Takumi slipped past Ryoma (anyone else might have struck him by mistake but never Ryoma, no, his discipline was always too perfect) and raced toward the Faceless, which bellowed in its half-voice and raised fists larger than his head. He stopped in his tracks right in front of it, waited for a moment, and took one step back. Its fists smashed into the floor directly in front of him, and he stomped hard on its right wrist, vaulting himself high enough to kick off of its left bicep, then its left shoulder, up to standing on its masked head. It rose straight with a scream as he leaped, flinging him high into the air as its hands closed useless above its head.

For one brief, perfect moment, he floated above the sea of war. It spread out beneath him in a carpet of chaos and death, but he could see the patterns that were emerging there: the Hoshidan army that fought bravely at every corner, and the shadow army that was well and truly endless, and the Nohrian warriors who were keeping the tide from flowing into the throne room, and then the throne room itself. The dragon was more hideous than it had seemed from the ground, its head being an open hollow filled with red light that throbbed with a steady rhythm. Corrin was scrambling away from it, having abandoned using her sword offensively, and it was laughing as it reached for her. Elise was rallying two of the Nohrians, a small woman in pink armor and a large blond man with an axe, but she was too far away to help and he did not want to think what would happen if she waded into that melee. The elder Nohrian sister had fallen from her mount, was reaching out to grasp hold of an axe that seemed too large for a person to hold in their hands. The crown prince of Nohr, Xander, was laid out upon the ground; apparently the dragon smote him as the battle began. The younger Nohrian brother, the pompous fool Takumi had shot before, was still on his horse, charging toward Corrin with a book in his hand, but one pampered tactician wouldn't be enough to help her.

Gravity reached up, grabbed hold of him by the hips, began to pull him down. Almost as an afterthought he aimed straight down with the Fujin Yumi, drew the thunderstring taut, let fly with one of its arrows.

The arrow punched through the top of the Faceless's head, the tip jutting out from below its jaw. It staggered, making a wet gurgling sound. Takumi landed on the monster's shoulders, kicked off of it, and landed lightly on his feet as it hit the floor. Ryoma stared at Takumi as if he had performed a very great trick.

"Corrin's not getting any help there. She's going to need us!"

Then it was back, Ryoma's composure slotting into place as if it had never been gone. He turned toward the throne room, motioned for Takumi to fall in behind him.

"Then we will go to her. Come."

* * *

Dying was a quiet thing, Azura thought; it was violent and painful and at the beginning it was terribly loud, the sound of the workings of her own head colliding into each other drowning out the rest of the world, but as it drew closer things grew quiet, and calm, and distant. Iago spoke in her ear, and she heard his voice but did not hear the words. She tried to wrench the staff away from her throat, knew it necessary, but did not have the strength to pull or the strength to care. She was slipping down beneath a pool of dark water, and she knew that there would be rest there... for a time.

" _Princess Azura!_ " A distant voice, doubly distant through the haze over her thoughts, and then there was a whistling, a heavy  _thunk_ that shook the hands holding the staff against her throat. The pressure at her neck fell away.

Azura had lost her will to fight, but her lungs remembered why they struggled, and as her windpipe cleared she drew a ragged, gasping breath that turned into a sob at its end. She coughed, hard, as awareness and light and sound exploded into her brain, patches of color against patches of shadow swimming across her vision. Acting on instinct she drove her elbow back as hard as she could, and she felt one of Iago's ribs break. He let go of her, too easily, stepped back.

She whirled, still unseeing, and she had a naginata in her hand, and in one motion she plunged it into Iago's chest. She took another ragged gasp of air as she stepped forward, shoving  _hard_ —and Iago fell onto his back, lifeless, the Naginata still jutting from his chest.

The lost princess of Nohr leaned on the naginata, taking down huge gulps of air, coughing, unable to do anything else, and the whole world around her left her isolated. None of the invisible warriors drew too near, and none of the Hoshidan soldiers had seen her struggle in all of that. She looked down, staring at Iago's face, as the darkness slowly left her. Details became clearer in the seconds that passed: the broken mask, the blood that was not flowing as freely from his chest as she would have expected... and the arrow in his neck, far enough back to have severed his spinal cord. He had been dead before she ever struck him, and the look on his corpse's face was one of pain and shock and fear.

 _Good_ , she thought, because she could not say it out loud, and wondered what she would do if she were attacked.

There was someone next to her, then, and she didn't have the strength to fight but she looked up to see the shadowy face of her killer.

Instead she found a man, with hair the color of ashes and iron, wearing a dark green cloak, carrying an enormous bow on his back. He had a healing staff in his left hand, and was summoning up magic even now, and she had never seen such an intense look of concern on a stranger's face.

"Just a second, princess, and I'll have you fixed up." He was her savior, then, and it was his arrow in Iago's neck. She pulled the naginata from the sorcerer's chest, coughed again, found she could breathe but could not speak. Could not  _si_ _ng_. The realization put ice in her belly and suddenly she was afraid, if she couldn't sing it was all for  _nothing_. "As soon as I'm sure you're OK we're going to get out of here, all right? I'll have you away from the battle and somewhere safe as fast as I can."

She waved him away, hitting the healing staff with her hand, then pointed at her throat.

" _My voice. I need my voice._ " A croak, a whisper.

"Your..." He looked at her, then back across the battle to the distant hill of the dragon's body as it roared and flexed its wings, and then back to her. He leaned in close, tilted her head back with his fingers, touched the skin of her neck with his fingertips so gingerly that she felt no pressure. His closeness to her was disconcerting, but he had the sure mannerisms of a field medic. "Your throat's fine, just bruised. Your voice will come back, but I'm not skilled enough to accelerate the process. Even with healing magic it's going to be hours before you can speak normally, maybe a couple of days before you'll be singing again."

" _No_ ," she said, and she dropped her naginata and grabbed him by his shoulders and looked him in the face and he flinched at what he saw in her eyes. " _That's too late. I have to sing now._ "

"You  _can't_ , princess," he said, speaking aloud a death sentence.

They both looked up, then, as did every warrior both concrete and ephemeral in the place. The entire battle was drowned out by a scream, a  _shriek_ , that welled up from such terrible pain that there was no other answer to it.

* * *

Garon bellowed, and his breath boiled out in a wave of destruction and force that seared Corrin's cape even as she spun out of its way. All of her speed barely served her here, and she could feel her strength waning with the stress of dodging his attacks. This could not go on. She had been trying not to think about how the Yato had failed her, but it was a weight at her hip now, useless against the dragon's armor, and she knew that if she relied on it she would die. What answer that to a dragon's strength?

Corrin reached for the stone at her throat, and Garon roared, insensate, unspeaking, a beast raging.

" _Do you think that will be enough_?" She shrank away from the sound of his voice, could not believe that she was still afraid of him, but it was as if this had been his real shape all along, his real face, some inhuman parody of life. "Do you think the blood that flows in you is a match for the blood that flows in me?"

"I will not lose, Garon! No matter how powerful you are, no matter the odds, I will not fail in this! I will protect Hoshido, in my mother's name!"

At last, that seemed to give him pause, and she braced herself, setting her stance wide, but she stopped when she saw how he was regarding her; even through the bestial features that hid his thoughts, she could see his scorn, his laughter. He lifted one forelimb, the motion almost lazy, and a magic the color and consistency of ink engulfed his claws.

His voice was amused, condescending. "Then  _die_. In your mother's name."

His claws came down, and she realized she would not be able to transform fast enough; she brought the Yato up, tried to swing it to intercept the claws, knew she was about to die.

Corrin did not die; there was a thunderclap, an eruption of magic, the smell of ozone and soil and the woods. Garon screamed, withdrawing his forelimb, and Corrin dared to let herself hope.

Between her and Garon Ryoma stood, lightning surging off of the Raijinto's blade, the magic of Garon's claw dissipating at the intensity of his sword's aura. Takumi was immediately behind him, drawing another arrow, taking careful aim past his brother's shoulder. Behind them both Leo sat astride his horse, Brynhildr glowing in his hands, and she knew that it was his magic as much as any power that had stopped the blow that would have killed her.

"Oh," she said, and Leo looked back at her and grinned and she was glad. "Thank you! All of you, thank you!"

"No thanks yet," Ryoma said, lowering the Raijinto's tip to the floor, flipping the blade in his hands, preparing for an upward slash as her bent his knees in preparation to dash. "Not until the work is done."

"Yeah." Takumi did not release the arrow, did not look away from his target, waited for his brother's motion. "Can't let you do this by yourself, can we? Your family's here for you."

"All of us are," Leo said, and his wording placed him outside of her family and her heart broke in her chest. "We will do this together, Corrin. We will change the world together."

"Leo, Takumi, Ryoma, I don't..." The Yato hissed, spit,  _writhed_ , surging with power. "My sword!" They did not respond; the Brynhildr shone with the same light as the Yato, as did the Raijinto. "It's resonating! This is just like before, with the Rainbow Sage!"

" _NO!_ " Garon's claws cut deep into the floor, and Ryoma could only dodge out of their way. " _I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! YOU WILL DIE HERE, NOW_ —"

The dragon's voice, the voice larger than the world and more terrible than the clash of war, was cut off by a scream, issued from human lips, so frantic and wild and pained and horrible that Corrin did not recognize its source. If the Yato was not leaping in her hands she would have covered her ears to block out the sound, but she could not, none of them could.

* * *

Power, unspeakable power, power that reached up into her and through her and out of her, and everywhere in its wake it left fire and pain and silence, terrible silence, silence that swallowed up the world. She screamed to fill the silence, to fight against the power that was eating at her from the inside, and she knew that she was dying but she did not release her grip. There was no word for what she was feeling, no word for how hard it was to take her first step, and the second, and the third, and never let go.

* * *

Corrin saw Camilla out of the corner of her eye, and something was wrong with her, and then the eldest princess of Nohr plunged the Bölverk's head into Garon's body.

The dragon screamed, a sound unlike any it had made before, but Camilla's scream was louder, was worse. She swung the Bölverk hard against the inside and rear of Garon's foreleg, just beneath the shoulder, and the power of the axe,  _Garon's_ power, cut through his scales and flesh as if they were that of a man, severing tendon with a sound like a tree being uprooted, biting hard into bone. Garon nearly collapsed, the leg suddenly useless, and Camilla tore the axe free with a heave that sent a shower of black fire and burning blood into the air, and the dragon  _did_ collapse, the leg folding beneath the bulk of its body.

Camilla was  _burning_ , Corrin saw, not with fire but with the magic of the axe, a magic that made no sound and had a smell like the magic that roared inside of Garon's skull, and the sound her sister was making was beyond bearing. Camilla's hands were smoking, every muscle in her body was visibly seizing, and anyone with eyes could see that just holding the axe was killing her. Her hair was swept back from her face and she looked at Corrin with eyes nearly blinded by pain, but they saw each other and Corrin thought Camilla looked... glad?

Then Garon raised his head and Camilla wheeled on him, and one could hear her throat tearing at the volume of her scream.

" _YOU WILL NOT HURT MY SISTER!_ "

The dragon turned to bite her and the princess of Nohr swung the Bölverk and there was a  _crunch_ as it bit into Garon's jaw. Now the dragon  _squealed_ , panicked and pained, and she ripped the axe out and the jawbone came loose, hanging uselessly beneath the vast head, dislocated and bleeding and a mess, held in place only by the boneless sack of skin that had one big gaping hole in it.

Camilla lifted the axe again, and her stance said that she would decapitate the dragon, would kill her father at a stroke, and the corrosive strength of the Bölverk would let it happen.

Then the dragon struck her with all the force in its body, smashing Camilla with the full side of its good foreleg, sending her careening across the throne room, bouncing over the floor before smashing into the far wall and coming to a stop. The Bölverk spun through the air before landing on the floor. Camilla was no longer screaming, no longer moving. The Yato stopped writhing in Corrin's hand.

"YOU," the dragon said, speaking clearly though its mouth was broken beyond ruin. It turned on Camilla, began to limp across the floor toward her. "YOU WILL BE FIRST!"

Corrin did not scream, did not shout, did not  _speak_ ; she ran, flying past her brothers, covering the distance between herself and Garon in a heartbeat, and when she swung the Yato it howled in her hands. She struck the dragon in its ribs, and the Howling Yato, infused with the power of three of its sacred siblings, bit deep. The dragon roared in shock and agony, turning, and she danced backward, whirling out of the way of its reaching claws. She scored them with her sword as she retreated, and she saw one severed down to the nub, blood flowing freely form the foot that had supported it.

"This is it, Garon! No one else will ever die at your hands!"

The dragon roared, black fire welling up in its mouth, and then the shining arrow of the Fujin Yumi took it in the eye. It howled, a sound to match the Yato's own voice, and Corrin leaped upon the dragon's back. Lightning struck Garon's head, lancing out from the Raijinto's blade, and Corrin did not even look as she jumped to the dragon's shoulders. Roots larger than a human arm reached up from the earth like fingers, grasping the dragon's jaw and dragging its head down to the floor, and Corrin ran up the length of its neck. The beast roared again, the terrible light in its skull turning all of its focus toward her as she stood on top of its head.

" _This does not end here._ "

"Yes, it does." She brought the Howling Yato down, cutting through the webbing of the dragon's skull, slashing through the light that served as its brain, and there was an eruption of power and of light.

* * *

Xander never lost consciousness, not truly, though the world was far removed from him. If he had known that Camilla was feeling something akin to what he was feeling, he would have forced himself to wakefulness to help her, but he had no sense of anyone or anything outside of himself. There was only him, and the red haze, and the silence all around him.

Strange, then, that he felt it when his father died, heard snap the tether keeping Garon in this world. That sound, ringing across the silence, brought him a very great deal of peace.

Then the silence turned its attention to him, and he did not understand that at first, and even if he had he would not have been able to stop anything.

* * *

Garon's body dissolved into the air, and the shadow armies vanished as if they had never existed, and the Faceless were gone just as suddenly, and Azura ran across the antechamber with all the speed she had. The bowman in green followed her, tried to slow her down, but she couldn't stop. Hoshidans cheered at their victory, and she flitted past them as if they weren't there. Sakura called out to her, and Hinoka immediately after, and she did not even look at them.

The Nohrian fighters at the threshold of the throne room were collapsed on the floor, some laughing, a couple weeping, a scar-faced man actually vomiting, and they did not look up at her passing. Some of them had run to their lieges; Camilla was being lifted up by two women so that Elise could tend to her, and Leo was flanked by two men who were so happy to see him, and Corrin looked on in silence as the dragon's body evaporated. She was so stoic, so regal, the very picture of the determination that had brought their entire army to this point. And she didn't know.

" _Corrin!_ " She could not get her voice over a whisper. " _Corrin!_ "

She reached out, grabbed the other woman by the shoulder, and when Corrin turned to look at her she looked so relieved. "Azura! We did it! We finally, wait," she looked at her then, hard, at the bruise at her throat. "What happened?"

" _It's not dead!_ "

Confusion flitted across Corrin's face, then fear bordering on panic, and then the air was rent open by magic. The sound was like a cannon firing, deafening in the relative quiet of the throne room, and every pair of eyes in that throne room and its antechamber looked up as the space above the crown prince of Nohr opened like a great black eye.

Corrin ran to him and Azura drew deep within herself, calling on all the power she could muster. The door between worlds was open, and if she could slam it shut  _now_ then things could still be saved. Everything came down to this one moment, this one note, the last desperate plea for her voice to work.

It did not, and she retched at the strain, and fell coughing to the floor, and could only watch.

A terrible force the color of blood reached out from that open eye, lifting Xander's limp body into the air, his arms and legs hanging bonelessly beneath him, Siegfried still clasped firmly in his hand.

" _PUT HIM DOWN!_ " The Yato howled as Corrin brandished it, and she leaped a distance of twenty paces as if she had wings, too late. Xander was pulled back into the dark, the eye snapped shut, and the Yato cut through empty air.

There was a great deal of screaming, then, from many different corners; accusations back and forth between the Nohrians and the Hoshidans, Elise screaming her eldest brother's name, a woman with blue-and-pink hair sobbing like a child whose parents had broken a promise for the first time. Azura barely heard any of it, only saw Corrin on her knees just beneath where Xander vanished, staring up at the empty space where he had been seconds before. Corrin did not move, or speak, so Azura pushed herself once more to her feet and walked unsteadily to the woman who had brought them all to this point. The man in the green cloak shadowed her but offered nothing, as lost here as anyone, and she thought maybe he stuck to her because he did not know else what to do.

Corrin was still staring at nothing as Azura knelt next to her, put her hand on the other woman's shoulder.

"He was right there, Azura. My brother was right there, and then he wasn't."

" _I know_."

"What happened to him? I thought we had won. Where is Xander?"

" _I can't tell you._ " Soft-spoken words, because they could not be anything else, but Corrin looked at her with wide eyes, frantic eyes, and Azura knew that it was time for the shedding of secrets, whatever the consequences might be. She would be seeing that stare many, many times over the coming days. " _But I can show you._ "


	8. A Border Between Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hinoka confers with Camilla, who keeps secrets but reveals her trust, and in which Azura shows the way.

The rain started suddenly and all at once, going from empty air to heavy sheets with no gap between the two. Hinoka did not particularly mind; she could fly in a storm as easily as she could in a dead calm. Her pegasus (whose name she had never told to anyone) did not so much as dip under the sudden torrent, responded calmly as she adjusted its flight. The other flyers who formed the upper perimeter patrol might not fare as well, but each of the sky knights was trained to fly day or night, rain or shine, without needing to adjust their patterns beyond a certain point; not keeping up with her didn't mean they would falter.

The sky knights formed the vanguard of the army, scouting ahead and identifying any problems on the long march to the Bottomless Canyon. The rear guard, by Corrin's order and over her own protests, were made up of the Nohrian wyvern riders who had rallied under the call of Princess Camilla; she did not  _expect_  them to have any more problems than the sky knights, not flying in their own country under weather conditions familiar to them, but it still rankled her to look back and see that they were easily keeping pace in the storm, holding their formation without so much as one rider dipping to break the pattern. The best sky knights were unmatched for aerial combat—this was a fact borne out over the course of many battles, not idle pride—but the wyvern riders leveraged the far greater power of their mounts in ways that made her feel both respectful and curious. Catching herself in that feeling was what rankled worst, she supposed.

To the east, toward the Bottomless Canyon, she saw flashes of light turning thunderheads brilliant shades of white and grey.

"Damn," she spoke to her horse. "From bad to worse, isn't it, boy?" Perfectly confident in her own ability to navigate a thunderstorm, Hinoka was still the commander of the upper perimeter patrol by Corrin's order, and that made her responsible for everyone else who hung out in the sky. She couldn't have any of them getting cooked in midair. The flashes moved close enough to be actual lines of brilliance drawn against the darkness of the Nohrian day (people who only saw lightning from the ground would never understand how that looked) and Hinoka slapped her pegasus's neck. It was not enough to hurt him, or even really startle him, but at her signal he squealed, long and loud and so piercing that it carried even through the rain. All along the line she heard other pegasi answer, and one by one the perimeter began to drop, reining in to return to the ground and to shelter. She looked back at the rear of the line, and heard the wyverns roaring their own signals before sinking down; this had been worked out between each of the air commanders, which was easy enough in that it was one of the few air tactics that the two nations shared between each other.

It was not mistrust that made Hinoka wait and watch as every single one of the wyvern riders broke formation and returned to the body of the army; she assured herself of this several times. In that vein, it was not vindication she felt when she saw that the very last rider, the rearguard of the army, did not descend. Not fury, or righteousness, or any of those things as she wheeled back her pegasus and tore across the sky on the beating of mighty wings. Anger boiled inside of her, but it was not at the war's victory snatched away from her people, or how Corrin was taking the entire army in the search of one man—a Nohrian, a war criminal, the false brother who had tried to steal her away again. It was at the disobedience, which she had not expected, from this rider of a particularly large wyvern, which she would deal with according to military protocol. She could keep hold of herself, and this straggler would not even know the fury she felt. All of these things she repeated to herself, over and over, mindful of the dual-headed naginata strapped to her saddle, the naginata which she would never use.

The wyvern grew larger in her vision, and through the sheets of rain she saw that it was darker than the average and its eyes burned red, which meant the rider was a magi knight trained in Nohrian sorceries. She could not see them clearly, partially because of the rain, partially because of the arched neck of the mount, partially because of the cloak they wore to protect them against the weather. Tall and strong-bodied even on the back of their wyvern, the rider's posture spoke of practiced surety and a long-standing arrogance. Hinoka admitted to herself that she wanted to take them down a peg.

"Hey, you!" She raised her voice enough for it to carry across the rain, sweeping in and wheeling her pegasus so that she was flying just ahead of the other rider, close enough that if she fell back at all the wings of their mounts would collide and send them both for a tumble. The rider looked up at her, then, their face obscured by their cloak. "Why have you broken formation, soldier?"

The magi knight reached up with a black-gauntleted hand and drew the hood of the cloak back, letting their long purple hair fall free to be whipped around by the wind and plastered flat almost immediately by the rain. Hinoka's thoughts ground to a stop as the magi knight looked at her. "Princess Hinoka? Forgive me. I did not hear the signal. It must have been the wind."

"Princess Camilla!" The other woman looked distant and empty-eyed, and Hinoka wondered at her own anger only moments before. "I understand. But you can see the thunderstorm coming, surely? We must return to the body of the army and prepare to make camp, or we will be in danger."

"Ah." Camilla looked forward, casting her eyes toward the horizon as if focusing on it for the first time. Hinoka kept watching her face, but knew the flashes of lightning behind her from the brilliant whiteness they threw on Camilla's skin. "There is a story among the magi knights that, in ages past, a great rider was able to catch the lightning in her hands. She wielded it like lesser warriors wielded blades, and no creature or enemy combatant could stand against her power. It is said that she was the  _first_  of the magi knights, whose mount was changed by the power she carried... though the wyvern lords say she was the first of them, I think."

"What does that mean?"

Camilla looked at her, then, and the Nohrian lady's expression was blank and unreadable, the wetness of her hair making her look younger and smaller than she would have otherwise. She looked lost. "Suppose I do not want to come down, Lady Hinoka? Suppose I would try to catch hold of the lightning?"

Danger, here, and a very great deal of it. Nihilism rolled off of Camilla in waves, a perversion of pain and anxiety turned to something else altogether. Hinoka considered her words very carefully, turning things over in her mind, and thunder shook the air all around them. If this took too long, Camilla would get the chance to do whatever she wished with the lightning.

"If you did not wish to come down, I would have to force you down. If I could not, I would bring Corrin to remind you that chasing stories would not help to get Prince Xander back." Dangerous ground, this; she didn't know if Camilla would take that as a threat, and if she  _did_  then Hinoka couldn't predict how she'd react. Images of an axe biting deep into dragon flesh hung in the air between them.

Then Camilla sighed delicately, and smiled, and it was a dangerous smile but it was also tired and hurt and distant. "I suppose you're right. I can't let her worry about me, can I? Still, I do not... I do not think I am wholly well, Lady Hinoka." As if to illustrate the point, Camilla raised her hands and removed one of the gauntlets, showing the bandaging that enshrouded each of her fingers individually.

Slowly, each word picked from an army: "I do not think that what afflicts you has much to do with burns on your hands."

Silence, save for the rain and the thunder, a white cacophony that made Camilla's expression more painful to look at. The Nohrian rider pulled her gauntlet back on. "I suppose you are right. I have ordered my retainers to tend to work on the ground, and so I am alone up here. Would you be so kind as to escort me?"

"Of course. Just stick close to me." She turned forward, then, and leaned down over her pegasus's neck and began a hard descent. She did not need to check that Camilla followed.

* * *

Camilla's retainers had been waiting for her, and as they sat in her tent Hinoka watched them at work. They removed her armor with a care that bordered on tenderness, and then fell to the business of caring for her immediate needs: the red-haired woman fussed under her breath while drying Camilla's hair with a scented towel, and the blue-haired woman unwrapped the bandaging from her hands. Hinoka tried to picture Azama or Setsuna doing anything like that for her and found she lacked the imagination.

"Thank you for seeing me safely back, Princess Hinoka." Both retainers looked at her then, appraising her, re-evaluating her place in that room, and she felt some degree of the tension melt away. The blue-haired woman's back relaxed, and she no longer looked like she was ready to reach for her axe at any second. Had Camilla said that specifically to put her retainers at ease, or for Hinoka's own benefit? Hard to say. Probably didn't matter.

"I'm happy to be of help," she said, trying to remember the particulars of courtly protocol. What were you supposed to say in situations like this one? Did protocol even cover it? "I know that this is a... difficult time for you. And for your kingdom, of course." Damn. Did that imply weakness on Camilla's part? She hadn't meant to do that. She fidgeted, tried to stop herself, wished Ryoma were here to help her through this, or even Sakura. Probably not Takumi, though.

If there was insult, Camilla gave no sign. "Hm. Girls, would you mind fetching some tea for myself and our guest?"

"Can't do that." The blue-haired woman didn't even look up, taking off the last of Camilla's bandages, turning her lady's hands over in her own, inspecting the state of the skin. It was still pink, slightly puckered in spots, but not as badly burned as Hinoka would have thought given how Camilla had been screaming while carrying that enormous, burning axe. Nohrian medicine must have been very strong—a thought that was supported by the smell of the salve that the retainer began to spread over the princess's skin. "Need to finish changing the dressing on your wounds first."

Camilla didn't frown, but her brow wrinkled. " _Beruka._ Suppose I make it an order?"

"Then I will fetch the tea." The retainer didn't look up, spreading the salve delicately, using only her fingertips. "After I finish dressing your wounds."

"Selena?"

"Nnnnn _nope_." The red-haired woman didn't change what she was doing at all, moving down the length of Camilla's hair. "If I don't get your hair dry and tamed, it's going to look like one of the gods' own nightmares later. You might frizz up! Do you have any idea what Lord Xander will do to me if you look unkempt when we find him?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't do anything, dear." Her tone suggested this was not an argument she was used to having.

"Easy for you to say! But it's _my_  job," Beruka looked up and Selena caught herself, " _our_  job to take care of you, and if we don't do it then Lord Xander will know. He doesn't miss anything. You want to get me into trouble with the Crown Prince, Lady Camilla? You might as well cut my head off right now and save him the trouble."

"Girls." Her tone was soft, but both of her retainers froze in place as if struck by magic. "You are embarrassing me in front of our guest."

"Not at all!" Hinoka raised her hands as if letting go of a weapon. "It's actually very touching. Your retainers are plainly devoted to you. I'm envious of the affection and respect you all plainly have for each other."  _I wish I could rely on my retainers this well,_ she thought but did not say.

The effect was immediate, and worked as she had hoped: Camilla nodded, and Beruka breathed out softly and began wrapping Camilla's fingers, and Selena managed somehow to be drying the other woman's hair and preening herself at the same time. Camilla's posture visibly relaxed, and she closed her eyes and thought. After a moment she said, "You mentioned it being a difficult time for the kingdom."

"Well, of course." How could it not be? Had she made some error here? Did Nohrians ever admit to their own weaknesses or faults? Would it impugn on their honor to acknowledge catastrophe? "The war is effectively over, but both sides have suffered... losses. Yours are just as severe as ours."

Camilla's voice had a dreamy quality to it. "Yes, I suppose so. Our king is dead due to a military insurrection, and now the crown prince has been spirited away by who knows what. Our military is exhausted and nearly eating itself, and myself and Elise have excused ourselves to find Xander when we might be mending the wounds of the kingdom. Iago, effectively our vizier, is dead, and Hans had risen to the top of the military before I killed him. And now," she smiled, that strange smile that made Hinoka's fight-or-flight response kick in, "with our king dead, there exists a power vacuum that the nobles who ate at his table will seek eagerly to fill, especially with the heir and next-in-line absent. Is that a good summary of what you meant?"

"I, uh. Yes, I suppose so." It was  _not_ what she had meant, insofar as she hadn't even thought about the possibility of any noble houses having plans on the throne. Such a thing would be unthinkable in Hoshido, an affront to the gods themselves and an enormous stain upon any house that would act against the family of the late Queen Mikoto—or at least, so she thought, but Hinoka was not familiar with political matters.

"I agree." Camilla was looking off, and Hinoka began to understand that that dreamy look meant that she was thinking seriously about something. The Nohrian princess did not behave in a way that would have fit in at court in Hoshido, but she was clearly a very serious, very dangerous woman when she turned her mind toward any one thing. "There were arguments that I should stay behind, leave the seeking of our Crown Prince to our forces who would march alongside Corrin and the Hoshidans. I would be the natural choice, since I am next in line after Xander, and there are members of the court who are—justifiably, I will grant—afraid of me. In consolidating the various factions in Windmire and securing the throne, I would be making sure that Nohr would be ready to receive its Prince when he returned to be King."

"That seems a very... natural argument to make."

"Oh, it was! The most sensible I'd heard in some time. Yet in the end, I convinced Leo to stay in my stead, to sit upon the throne as regent and be the one to support the body and the people of Nohr, to face all of those nobles with their petty grievances and complaints of property lost in our coup. Do you know why?"

"Because you thought Prince Leo would do a better job?"

Camilla's smile was maternal, warm, affectionate, reminding Hinoka so completely and perfectly of Mikoto that she had a sense of being displaced in time, of being small again. The nostalgia was so sharp it made her heart ache. "No, Lady Hinoka. Leo is a genius, and a good, strong boy, but he _is_ a boy still. I would bring the nation to heel just as effectively as my brother, or moreso; he will take care of problems as they arise, or anticipate them and cut them off, but I would break every noble house over my knee so completely that they would think me as terrible as my father, for a time, and cheer to see Xander's return. No, I am here because I need to be here. Xander needs me, and Corrin needs me... or did." She trailed off, looking at nothing, before turning back to Hinoka again. "Forgive me. The long and short of it is that I am here to make sure things are made right. We are on the edge of what seem to be terrible secrets, and I will protect the people I love. You understand, of course."

The attendants continued to see to their lady's needs and Hinoka said nothing for a long time; she had been there, at Cheve, when the entire Hoshidan expeditionary force had gone against this woman. She had heard the devotion Camilla spoke of there, with an axe in her hand, and up to now she had believed it to be the hurtful, lying bile of someone who was speaking merely  _to_ hurt. Looking at her, though, she knew this wasn't true, that Camilla was going through something she was very familiar with.

"When we lost Corrin," she said, and looked up at the ceiling so she would not have to make eye contact, "I remember crying for days. Mother was so strong, then, and Ryoma was no different. Takumi and Sakura were too young to understand. Even past losing our sister, everyone was grieving our father, too; Hoshido had lost its king, and our future was uncertain. Even through all of that, I could only think about Corrin. I remember that the only way I could get myself to stop crying was to convince myself that I would go and get her, fight through all of the people who had taken her away and bring her back by force. I picked up my first naginata the next day. It was so heavy I could barely lift it, and I wouldn't be able to hold it in anything resembling an orthodox stance for weeks afterward, but I  _had_ to have it with me. I had to believe that I would be able to protect her and bring her home." The rain beat hard against the canvas of the tent, drowning out the sound of winding bandages or a brush running through purple hair. She had never felt so naked, but Camilla had made herself vulnerable and she felt a need to answer in kind. "So yes. I think I understand."

Hinoka brought her gaze down from the ceiling and found Camilla inches away from her face. She flinched, nearly scrambling backward, finding herself thinking over and over if this was the sort of thing allowed by Nohrian protocol. No, that was stupid, of course it wasn't, and she looked past Camilla to the retainers and saw there would be no help  _there_.

The other woman embraced her, pulling her in tight with arms that felt like iron bands. Hinoka thought to say that Hoshidans weren't this touchy-feely, but didn't.

"I know you loved her," Camilla said. "I know you love her still, and that that is why you are here. Corrin is very lucky to have a sister like you." Hinoka had never heard a tone quite like that before, could not place it save that it sounded sad, almost wistful. "Keep that feeling close to you. Please. If you maintain your feelings for her, for all of your siblings, I think we will understand each other through the trials to come. I think we will be able to protect our families."

Hinoka hesitated, in part because Camilla had pinned her arms to her sides. Then she lifted her hands as best she could, and returned the embrace as firmly as she was able. "I will."

After what seemed a long time the Nohrian princess released her, then rose to her feet. Her hands and fingers were cleanly bandaged, and as she held them out her retainers slid on and fastened her gauntlets. Beruka put a cloak on her lady's shoulders, and Camilla pulled the hood up over her hair. Then she reached down, helping Hinoka to her feet. She was smiling now, as if nothing had passed between them, as if nothing had been said. 

"Shall we go to find Corrin? Azura might not be offering any details, but we should still be kept abreast of any plans, I should think."

Hinoka nodded. "Good idea. I'll need to discuss troop deployment with her, and what our contingencies will be if this rain doesn't let up."

"Of course. Please, lead the way." Even as Hinoka turned to the entrance Selena slipped past her, holding open the flat to allow her to step out into the rain. Hinoka went out, with Camilla following and Beruka bringing up the rear, and they left the tent to its silence.

* * *

Hinoka had meant to ask Camilla about the axe, the weapon that had cloven wide the flesh of a dragon, but in the end the problems of family and love and dutifulness chased the question from her mind, and when she remembered it was no longer appropriate to ask. She would look for opportunities during the remainder of their time together, but before the time presented itself it would be too late, and the question would be moot, and all answers rendered meaningless.

This was by Camilla's design; she did not love Hinoka, carried her resentment like a stone wedged in the ventricles of her heart, but she knew Hinoka truly loved her sister (Camilla's sister? Hinoka's? She never dared phrase the question in her own mind, because she knew the answer, and it would kill her if pronounced) and would not have her burdened by that extra, alien knowledge. No one save for she knew the command she had given to Beruka and Selena as they gathered her up in the throne room, while Elise screamed for Xander and a wave of panic had kept all eyes momentarily away from her. No one ever knew that she had made Beruka to wrap the haft of the Bölverk in three layers of thick canvas, and the head in five, and the entire weapon to be placed in a dark wooden box. Selena and Beruka never spoke of the pain that they experienced just carrying that box, of the way the weapon reached through its protections and sought to grab hold of them, but Camilla knew their hearts and knew their pain and would have wept for them if she had not been saving her tears.

Marzia was a wyvern with a long exposure to dark magic, and gave no fuss and showed no pain when the casket was affixed to the back of her saddle. She had been carrying it for days, and Camilla did not think it was affecting her yet, but in time it would, just like it was affecting Camilla herself. Her moroseness was her own, almost an answer to the silence the weapon offered, the last quiet one could experience, the potential to kill everyone Camilla had ever loved.

No, Hinoka did not need to be burdened with these things, and Camilla knew it better that some questions never be asked. What could the answers be?

* * *

The rain let up, as it always did, and the army marched across ground that refused to be mud, was too stony to do aught but send water running in useless rivulets to pool on the roadsides. The aerial scouts took to the skies again, but there were no armies there to meet them, no resistance of any kind. Corrin lead the vanguard, in the shape of a dragon so that her pace on-foot could match the grueling rhythm sets by the scouts. She never ran out ahead of the main force, always kept her eyes open, but at every moment she was shaking with a reserve of energy that spoke to something grimmer than mere impatience. The tension of not knowing was driving her to distraction, and Azura was no more forthcoming now than she had been in the halls of Krakenburg. That she was allowed to travel with them, to  _advise_ them while remaining so taciturn, was remarked upon by several soldiers, but these small objections died away under the overwhelming presences of the royal siblings and the trust they invested in Corrin's judgement, and thereby in Azura.

The army rode, and it was peaceful, and the invisible armies did not harry them. Few thought to ask why.

The day after the thunderstorm cleared they came to that land where the rocky soil gave way to stone, and great black trees stood with roots that had wormed their ways down into cracks in the rock, forcing them open with the strength of their growth, drawing nourishment where there should have been none.

The Bottomless Canyon was not a single chasm; it was a vast gulf broken up by outcroppings of rock that jutted defiantly out of the darkness, daring onlookers to ask how high they reached to break through into the light of day. Dozens of bridges crossed the open air between these outcroppings, and the largest of these was so sturdy in its construction, so resilient in its weathering of storms and wind and the passage of time that the men stationed on either side of it thought of it as a product of the dragons that had founded their kingdoms. It was on this bridge that the gathered army began to cross, though not all at once; Corrin was not so confident in its strength as that.

Corrin walked at the fore in the shape of a human, with Jakob and Felicia and Kaze acting as her shadows. Ryoma and Camilla and Hinoka followed with their retainers, and Scarlet kept to the air just above Ryoma, never moving far from him. Elise followed behind on her horse, Sakura seated behind her on the saddle, and Azura rode in silence on a borrowed pegasus which she never took into the air while a tired-looking soldier in green loped behind her. In their wake followed the motley band that had been born of two armies, a sea of purples and blacks and reds and whites, of soldiers who had found their common stripes through a shared march. The tension was building to a crescendo, had been mounting ever since the dragon had died in Krakenburg's throne room, becoming an almost electric force in the air that coursed through all of them, making them as a single living thing.

Corrin signaled for a stop, and every foot in the army came to a halt, save for two pair. Azura drew her pegasus to a stop and then dismounted, walking with no visible hurry as the eyes of the army were on her back. At her back walked Shura, who had tended to her over these past days, and kept to her as a retainer would. The Nohrian sisters to whom she was still lost and the Hoshidan siblings who had adopted her watched in mirrored silence, and each of their thoughts were their own as she walked to Corrin, who waited. Corrin was kind and patient, so much so that it was often thought a weakness by the people who wished to protect her, and she maintained that kindness and that patience even now, when the tension in her body strained her voice.

"We've arrived, Azura, just like you said. Now I think it's time for answers. Where is Xander?"

Azura shook her head, and a murmur ran through the gathered throng. "I am sorry. Not yet. I cannot tell you now; I can only show you."

The murmur grew into a roar; indignation, outrage, two sides suddenly cognizant of their mistrust of this beautiful foreign princess who none of them had ever known. Each of the royal families clustered together, looking to their siblings, not mistrustful but confused, and the roar grew and grew until it merged with the wind that blew through the canyon.

" _QUIET!_ " Corrin's voice cut through them all, stopping every throat and tearing every eye away from where it had wandered. It was only possible to focus on the two orphaned princesses as they stood on the edge of the bridge. "Azura, I trust you absolutely. You have fought with me, killed with me, risked your life for me more times than I can count. This army only exists because of your protections, and every life here is owed to you five times over." She looked out over them, eyes red and wide, and they knew that she spoke the truth; outside of Corrin and her siblings, no one had been more instrumental in their progress than the dancer. "You have leveraged powers I don't understand at peril of your own life, over and over. No more could you do for me, even if you were my own blood. Whatever you say, I will believe you." She was silent, then, and it seemed that she was reaching for words; of all those gathered, only Camilla knew she was trying to keep her voice steady. "Please. Tell me what I have to do."

Bare feet made no sound against the ancient, weathered wood as Azura stepped over to the edge, grabbing hold of one of the enormous ropes holding up the bridge to steady herself. She looked down into the abyss. "All of your questions will be answered down there."

The wind howled, and there was no other sound.

"Down there? You want me to jump into the Bottomless Canyon?"

Azura turned, looked at Corrin. "Yes. If you jump from here, you will not die, and every question you have will be answered. I cannot say more than that."

Corrin closed her eyes, sighed through her nose, and looked peaceful for the first time in days. "I believe you." She turned to address the crowd, the gathered hordes that had liberated two nations in such little time. "I won't ask any of you to share my confidence, and I won't ask any of you to join me. I will be venturing with Azura, and if the gods are kind I will return with Prince Xander."

"My brother." Camilla's voice was soft but carried, and Azura turned at the other woman's address. "I will find what happened to him down there?"

Azura started to answer, stopped, seemed to consider whether or not the answer could be spoken. In the end she nodded, slow and cautious, as if any confirmation was a dangerous act.

"Camilla." Corrin turned to the woman she had called sister since she was a child. "You can leave this in my hands. Take the Nohrian forces back to Windmire, and—"

Marzia moved like a liquid thing, Camilla on her back, and shot off the side of the rope bridge. Elise and Jasmine were on her left. Camilla dove and Elise dropped, and they plunged together into the darkness.

Effie came off the side next, leaping openly, and Selena and Beruka were on their mounts and Arthur came after them, then Peri and Laslow, and all of the Nohrian royals and their retainers were gone into the dark like that, shrinking out of sight far too quickly.

"Well," Ryoma said, "never let it be spoken that Hoshido is less committed to the peace." And he ran and jumped with Scarlet at his back, and Hinoka and Takumi came after him, and Hana held Sakura's hand as they jumped together, and then all the retainers followed, some of them shouting, and a great sound came up from all those gathered warriors, and as a body they surged to the side of the bridge, crying out the names of Xander or Ryoma or Nohr or Hoshido, or Corrin, so many voices raised up for Corrin that they drowned out the others, and her name bounced off the walls of that yawning wound in the world's flesh as they sank away. Her name, cried out in faith, her belief enough to kindle theirs.

All at once, it was only Azura, the vagabond in the green cloak, Jakob, and Corrin on the bridge. The sense of absence was as big as the world.

"They would follow you anywhere," Azura said.

"Yeah. I guess they would." Corrin reached up to wipe at her face, found it covered in tears, stared at her wet hand as if she did not recognize it.

They jumped then, they four, and the wind howled in their ears and stone reached up like the world's teeth dragging them down into its bottomless maw. It was dark, and loud, and they passed from that world together.


	9. Hills and Rivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the stage is set.

There was a gap of unawareness, the point at which Corrin transitioned from falling into not falling, and that gap did not last for long but it was dark and cold and terrible, like being plunged into water at the bottom of a sunless cavern. She wondered if she had hit bottom, so suddenly that there had been no time for shock, if this was simply the experience of death.

Then light, sound, gravity, the feeling of long grass between her fingers, against the tops of her bare feet. She was on her hands and knees. She lifted her head, looked up into an alien sky.

Even if one knew what to expect when standing in Valla, the experience of transitioning from one world to the other was always disorienting: the light was decentralized, and the land's relationship with the sky seemed much blurrier than nature should dictate. All the anticipation in the world, all the memory one's conscious mind called up, could not prepare one for the sight of naked soil floating in the sky like orphan islands, of entire tracts of land jutting up into the heavens. There was no true up or down, and gravity was simply a matter of perspective, and for all of these things no mind could be truly prepared. Corrin had no such preparations, had never been told of this place, much less seen it, and for a moment she just stared up, up, until up no longer seemed to  _be_ up and she wondered if she might see herself in the sky, if she might fall upward and plunge into the air and never come back.

"Corrin." A light hand at her shoulder, the shock of a smooth voice. Azura was standing next to her, and she let herself be helped to her feet without protest. The other woman was calm, and that calmness was an anchor that held her to the ground as she looked about her—the army was here,  _all_ of them had arrived safely, and some of those on winged mounts had taken to the skies to get the lay of the land, working with military efficiency. Beruka and Selena were both on wyverns, sticking close together as they headed for what seemed to be north. "We've arrived, and I have much to say."

So Corrin gathered her lieutenants and the royal families of Hoshido and Nohr around them, and after weeks of waiting and years of silence Azura told a story. It was a story well familiar to those who know this tale in its more orthodox forms; of a dragon gone mad in its loneliness, of a curse that bound refugees to an absolute silence against the promise of death, and of a war orchestrated between two kingdoms by a third that had been long dead. There was more than this, and it went on for a long time.

When Azura was done she fell silent, anticipating questions. Corrin did not know what to ask, drowning in this sudden torrent of information. Ryoma stood, statue-like, his arms crossed and his eyes closed, as if he were meditating.

Camilla's gauntleted fingers squeezed hard on her armored elbows. "Then, through all of this... King Garon, our father...?"

Azura nodded. "I am afraid he has not been the same man that you knew for many years, now. The blood of Anankos...  _changed_ him. I don't know exactly when he took it into himself as part of his pact with the Silent Dragon, or why, but after all those years... King Garon was dead long before your battle." She winced, hearing the cruelty of her own words, but was too honest to take them back. "I'm sorry. This has to be difficult to hear."

"Not as much as you might think." Corrin did not know what Camilla meant, but knew from looking at her that there would be no elaboration volunteered.

Ryoma shifted in such a way that everyone knew to give him space to speak, even though he was silent. He looked hard at Azura, though he was not accusing her of anything. "Then all of this, the  _decades_ of war between our people, was the work of Anankos? Every act of aggression by Nohr or Hoshido according to the designs of the silent dragon?"

"Not...  _every_ one, no, but each of them did further Anankos's design." She did not need to elaborate; each person there knew that Nohr's poverty had predated Garon's reign, that the need for food and the difficulty of satisfactory trade was nearly as old as the kingdom itself. "The silent dragon wants to see the two kingdoms fall, and all humanity punished for forgetting the relationship it once had with the dragons."

Corrin looked to Elise, who was fidgeting in place and unwinding one of her massive curls before rewinding it with her hands. She had a question she wanted to ask, but if Corrin was reading her right (she'd had enough practice to be confident) then she was worried that the act of voicing the question would make the answer lean in one direction or the other. That preoccupation, that magical thinking, was something Elise had carried with her since she began talking. Even if she did ask it, she would blame herself for the answer, regardless of what it was.

So Corrin spoke. "It's clear that we are dealing with a power unfamiliar to us, and in some ways unfamiliar to our thinking. Still: it wants us dead." Azura nodded, and the other royals were watching her now, trying to anticipate where she was going. Elise knew. "With that in mind, why did Anankos take Xander? Did he just want to remove one of our strongest warriors?"

"It's impossible to say for sure." A wyvern roared in the distance, but none of them looked up. Azura turned over her words slowly, as if trying to frame things in a way they'd better understand. "When I tried to sing while you were fighting Garon, I had a...  _sense_ of the powers at play there."

"Can you describe what you mean?"

"I'm sorry, but no. It's a sort of awareness like seeing out of the corner of your eye. I can sense Anankos's power, and the power of the other dragons. The sacred weapons of Hoshido and Nohr have separate sources for their power, and the Yato resonates with them in a unique way, and Anankos's power is different from each of these. When Xander was fighting the dragon, before he fell, there was something about his power that felt... off, and not his own. I have only theories, but—"

The sound of Camilla's armor cracking was so loud that Corrin actually jumped. She looked to the eldest princess, and Camilla had gone completely pale, her eyes staring at nothing. "When Xander defeated him—before he turned into a dragon—Father spit a great deal of blood into Xander's face."

"That would explain a lot." Azura's calm suddenly felt almost obscene; that wasn't her fault, she wasn't attached to Xander, but the impression was there. "If he ingested some of the blood of Anankos, then Anankos may be trying to exercise power over him, to bend his will like his father's. It took years to make Garon the way he was, but if Xander is brought into Anankos's presence then the process might be accelerated."

Another crack, and Camilla was left looking at the broken pieces of armor in her hands. Corrin wanted to reach out to her, but the tension in the older woman's body had wound her tighter than Corrin had ever seen before. She looked ready to explode.

Then Elise touched Camilla's elbow, and the older sister looked down at the younger, and the younger spoke to all of them while looking only at her. "Then we have to go save him. We have to go right now."

"We're all agreed on that point, Elise." Corrin looked to her Hoshidan siblings, and felt relief when all of them—even Takumi—assented. "We will do everything in our power to right the wrongs done here and to bring Xander home safely. He's important to all of us. Azura, I know you haven't been here since you were a child, but would you be able to lead us to where Anankos is likely to be?"

Before Azura could answer a wyvern screamed again, closer and more insistent, and each of them looked up to see Selena and Beruka returning in a hurry, flying low enough that entire squads had to scramble to get out of their way, hurling curses at their backs. The wyverns landed too fast, scrambling to keep from falling, claws digging deep furrows in the earth so that they did not slam into the gathered nobles. Selena and Beruka were both gasping for breath, and the redhead got her wind back first.

"Lady Camilla! Lady Corrin! You're definitely going to want to see what we found!"

"What is it, Selena?" Corrin stepped forward, asserting her physical presence to take command. "Did you find the enemy?"

"Gods, I have  _no_ idea." Selena tossed her hair, took another moment to breathe. "I mean, maybe it  _used_ to be."

* * *

His thoughts were a fortress atop a rocky shore, assaulted on all sides by the crashing of grey waves that ate away at the firmament with every lap. Silence threatened from every angle.

Fire hissed and cracked in his hand, fire the color of the Nohrian sky. He walked, because he had to walk, seeking the source of the silence.

The silence dragged him down, weighted his steps, sought to stop him altogether.

He spoke words, because words were the best defense against the silence. He knew not where he was, or why he was there, or why the silence was seeking to devour him with the burning pain in his blood, but he knew what he believed, and when the silence grew close he spoke against it.

"For Nohr."

* * *

They followed Beruka and Selena at a run, the entire army moving as a body, anticipating some attack. None was forthcoming, according to Selena, but it was possible to deceive even the best scout, and Corrin would brook no argument.

Then they crested a hill overlooking a scene like nothing Corrin had ever seen in her life.

The land was a battlefield, or had been. Or, no, battlefield was the wrong word: this was the site of _massacre_. The gathered forces of the Vallan army lay strewn on the ground, broken, flickering in and out of reality with every moment. The patterns of their bodies suggested they had been converging on nearly a single point, and Corrin walked down among the corpses as she surveyed them. They were disappearing rapidly, vanishing back into the ether from which Anankos had pulled them, but she could see that armor had crumpled like tin, or had holes blown in it. Wyverns and horses and pegasi lay strewn all over the ground with riders nowhere to be seen. Arms and armor lay empty, smoking, the bodies inside of them completely disintegrated by the power brought to bear against them.

Past that, beyond that, drawing Corrin's eye to them even though she wanted so much to pretend that all of this was simply a matter of examining corpses in a field to learn the story their deaths might tell, huge tracts of land had been gouged out. The lines were deep and clean, not like a dragon's claw but like a sword, a blade that had cloven through the landscape, wielded with such fury that it was turned against the world itself. Fires burned in places, the grass holding some evidence of the inky blackness that had brought devastation to the entire area. Her eyes kept coming back to a particular hill that looked as if it had been hewn in twain from the top, letting her see plainly to the land on the opposite side of it.

"Gods. Gods!" Ryoma was behind her, though she hadn't heard him. She looked back at him, and she saw in his face the fear and confusion that roiled in her own chest. The others were with him, and their expressions, save one, mirrored his. "What could have done this? It looks like the work of giants!"

"Or titans," Camilla said, and both of them looked to her. She shrugged. "It was something Leo said, when Xander was fighting our father."

"What? Are you saying Xander could have done  _this_?" Corrin gestured with her arm, trying futilely to take in the entirety of the area, of entire battalions scattered like grain in a strong wind, of a landscape that looked like a diorama that had been carved up by an angry artist. "Is he  _that_ powerful?"

"Oh yes." Camilla's gaze took in the field, the bodies, all of it, and she nodded. "Oh yes, I think he is, and Leo would agree if he were here." She turned to Azura, who was still arrested by the sight of the massacre. "Azura. Azura!" The princess of Valla took another moment to tear her eyes away, to look at Camilla as if waking from a dream. "What do you make of this? Is it possible that my brother is fighting? Could Xander be resisting Anankos's will?"

What answer to that? Azura looked out upon the plain that had become a valley, and Corrin knew what she saw: the troops of Anankos, and the world of Anankos, torn apart. What purpose such butchery, if it was Anankos doing it? To what end would he be exhausting his own resources? What other explanation for what had happened here?

Azura nodded, and Corrin felt the first stirring of hope. "He must be."

* * *

Gripping Siegfried tightly, calling its dark power into himself, allowed him to clear his head. Not much, but enough to know why he was walking: at the end of a long road his enemy waited, old and sedentary, given over to fear and pain and madness. That fear and pain and madness was running in his own blood, now, making his thoughts confused, but he would be strong. As strong as he needed to be.

"For Camilla."

This place, whatever it was, was littered with castles and garrisons, and he could feel the fear and pain and madness swirling in them, coalescing into the shape of bodies, of warriors, which poured out to meet him.

"For Leo."

These people were dead, they were wraiths held to the world by the power of the silence, and he could feel the silence echoing throughout the world, as plainly as his own limbs. He was going in the right direction.

"For Elise."

The silence turned its awareness on him in its fullness, and he felt the waves of its madness crashing against his mind. He hissed through his teeth, his steps becoming heavier and slower, then stopping, as the unspeakable pressure of a being so vast it might as well have been a god sought to crush him. It spoke, and its voice came not from without but from within his own thoughts, words that assailed the very barrier of his skull.

 _HOW DO YOU RESIST?_ _WHY DO YOU PUSH OUT MY INFLUENCE? YOU HAVE ONLY TO GIVE IN TO ME, AND YOU WILL BE FREE OF PAIN AND OF WANT. I OFFER YOU THE ONLY REWARD FIT FOR HUMANITY: TRUE, FINAL SILENCE. WHY DO YOU REJECT ME?_

The bargain it offered was simple, and sweet: silence, calm, peace, in exchange for subjugation and oblivion. Whatever the silent being was, its thoughts were not entirely under its control, and he had caught enough to know what it had done to him and what its designs were, who it would harm. Thinking that, holding one face in his mind, he took another step, and another, regaining his pace and then surpassing it, sprinting, Siegfried roaring as his eyes opened and he could see the land around him. He was awake, and her face was still in his mind.

"For Corrin."

* * *

Shura did not belong there, listening to the royals talk about concepts above his pay grade and his head. He was not a small-minded man, the restoration of Kohga was not the goal of the small-minded, but the relationship between this place, this  _Valla_ , and the world with  which he was familiar bordered on the metaphysical. He was a practical man, with practical concerns. One of those, for the past few days, had been Azura.

He had stuck to her in the days following the battle against Garon, using his healing magic to accelerate her recovery and tending to her needs like a proper retainer. More than philosophy and metaphysics,  _that_ was something that was supposed to be beyond him; who would believe an old bandit would pretend to be a man-in-waiting to a princess of Nohr? And Hoshido?  _And_ Valla, on top of that, because why wouldn't she be? She was the heir apparent to a dead kingdom, and had not a single person to her own retinue, treated like a dancer, an advisor, a  _witch_ , rather than according to her station. Shura didn't care about royalty as such, didn't mind the idea of one or two going without, but Azura...

One day he'd have to tell her why he was sticking so close to her, but so far she had been polite enough not to ask and every morning he was coward enough that he put it off for another day. He cleaned and mended her clothes, maintained her weapons, and made sure that she was in no danger. That would have to do for now.

She was safe then, as safe as it was possible for her to be; the carnage all around them suggested there wasn't anything dangerous for a long ways off, and she was surrounded by warriors much stronger than he was. So he signaled to her that he was going, and did not wait to see if she understood before slipping off into the battlefield.

Other scouts were walking through, examining the dead, but most of what they were doing was  _confirming_ that the warriors of Valla had actually died in the battle. An enormous clean-up crew, except there was no clean-up to be done, and any young pup with even one good eye could see it for themselves. It was only minutes before he had ranged past them, going beyond the front line, and began scouting in earnest. He had not moved past all the bodies, but he could see where the killing had stopped, the land beyond it clear and empty simply because there had been nothing left to kill. He began to jog, his joints loosening and his soreness falling away in the cool, clean air of this strange realm. The field passed beneath him, and with long strides he went around or over armor, avoiding the bodies that had yet to dissipate. Breathing deep, he opened up his senses to the world around him, listening for irregularities in that still place.

"Azura?" A small voice, cracked, lost. He whipped his head around, trying to find its source, ran with purpose towards it. "Azura?"

There was a woman on the ground, lying on the edge of the field, probably the last person Xander had passed on his way through. Only he hadn't  _just_ passed her: Shura knelt to examine her wounds, and knew instantly that she would not survive, even with his magic. Her light blue hair was stained with crimson, and the armor she wore was torn open from her left hip to her throat. There was a very great deal of blood, and the flesh of the wound was seared by some powerful energy. That she had lived this long spoke to a will of almost absurd resilience. Save for her dress and her wounds, she looked exactly like Azura.

Words came back to him, a document containing orders, written on parchment he had burned in fire well over a decade ago. The name of a girl, a sketch of her face, and the face of her mother, who even then had been dead for years. Azura speaking of Anankos and his power over the souls of those who should have passed on, his army of wraiths. The face of a dead woman.

"Lady Arete," he said, and she looked up at him and reached out with her hand. He clasped it in his. "Be still. You are wounded."

"I am dying," she said, smiling, sad. "Not for the first time. The first time won't take, so long as Anankos reigns... but his hold on me is gone. Death's last gift." She breathed hard, the blood on her diaphragm bubbling. "Where is Azura? Where is my daughter?"

"Safe. She's safe. She brought the royal families of Nohr and Hoshido together under another's banner. She and Lady Corrin're leading a march to find Anankos and end his war."

"Safe," she said, and tears ran down her face. "My child is safe. That's good." Her hand was very cool in his, very light.

His duty struck him, visions flashed in his mind of a girl with blue hair, screaming to be let go, screaming for a mother who was dead, and he started to rise. "Wait here. I'll go get her, I'll bring her here, she'll want to speak with you—"

"No." Her voice was level and clear and unbroken now, speaking a command from the mouth of a woman who knew how to command, freezing his legs in place. "Please, no. I see that you are devoted to her, but do not... do not let her see me like this." There were no birds singing in Valla, and the world seemed very far away. "Let her last memory of me be that I spoke to protect her, to protect her world from Anankos. Please."

"I can't just leave you here." He meant that he would not let her bleed to death alone in the field, but it also occurred to him that they would find her body anyway.

"There is... a river, nearby. Take me to it, please. Azura and I used to love sitting by rivers and listening to the water run."

Shura looked back over the battlefield, saw that none of the scouts were close enough to pay any mind to what he was doing. He looked down at Arete, who was staring up at him, patient and serene and dying, her breathing growing more shallow with every moment. Then he leaned down, put her arms around her neck, and lifted her as gently as he could, carrying her as he would carry a bride. She gasped at the shock of being lifted but did not cry out, and he marveled at her fortitude. Arete pointed in a direction, further away from the battlefield, and he turned and carried her, stepping as smoothly and as carefully as he could.

Arete leaned her head against his chest, and seemed to sleep, but as he walked her eyes opened. "You are her servant?"

"Paying a debt," he said, deciding after the fact that he would not lie to a dying woman. She looked up at him, expectantly. "I hail from the vanished land of Kohga. A few years after... after you died, one of the Hoshidan royal children was kidnapped. I was the leader of the band who kidnapped Azura in retaliation. We spirited her out of Nohr, taking her to Hoshido." He thought saying this would feel like putting down a weight, but it didn't; his head felt numb. "She was raised by Mikoto, as one of her children."

"Mikoto," Arete said, and closed her eyes again. "That is... fitting. Mikoto would have loved her." She didn't look up, and Shura thought she would stop speaking. "We both carry our crimes..."

"Shura."

"We _both_ are guilty, Shura. Your act of violence in taking her away, and my abandonment in leaving her hostage to a kingdom that was already crumbling." She offered nothing else, no balm for that wound, but he expected none, wanted the pain of those words to sink in so deep it would tear his flesh from his bones.

A long time after, as Shura's shoulders began to scream: "She is safe, you said. Is she well?"

"She is... sad. She walks like she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she will never be credited for her work in the same way Lady Corrin will. But she'll be the one to light the path for us, all the way to the end."

"A heavy lot, but she... is a strong child." Arete's voice grew fainter, and fainter, as if she was drifting to sleep. "Shura. Is she beautiful?"

He was weeping, now, and did not know why. He could not see where he was going, but he did not let it affect his voice. "She's very beautiful. She has a... kindness to her, a grace, that people mistake for aloofness. I don't think there's anyone more beautiful in the entire world."

Arete said nothing, and Shura looked down, and then he wept again.

He came to a river that ran to the north, and waded out into it with the dead woman in his arms. She floated so easily as he let her go, her face staying above the water as the current took her. Shura did not know what mechanism had waited for this moment, but as the water pulled her she began to dissolve into light and smoke, into a pleasant-smelling radiant mist whose form incense only pretended to, and she faded from his sight and the water ran on, on, on.

The river murmured to him as he went back onto its bank and put his face in the grass and wailed.

After a long time he cleaned his face in the running water, rubbing away the salt and sweat and pain and age and grief, and got back to his feet.

He walked back to the battlefield, where the clean-up crew were nearly finished with their sweep, and back to the main army, which was preparing to move out. No one called out to him, no one stopped him.

Azura was prepping her kit, and saw him and stepped smoothly aside when he moved to pack it for her.

"You made it back safely, Shura. I'm glad."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Did you find anything when you were scouting?"

"No, my lady. Nothing."

* * *

Awareness returned to him and he held onto it as fiercely as he could. He did not know how long he had been fighting; surely it had been hours, but it might well have been days. Not every battle was clear in his memory, but Xander knew that he had left many bodies in his wake, that Siegfried had been glutted on a torrent of blood so thick and bountiful that the darkness rolling off of it had taken on a different, more visceral mien. He had not loosened his grip on the hilt during the entire time, and his right hand felt like it had fused into place, becoming a thing of iron.

There was no night here, in this land of perfect morning twilight and brightly-colored mists, and so in good light he came to a castle. The beast was in there, he knew it was in there, could feel its power flowing from that place as surely as he could feel the breath in his own chest. Its power assailed him still, and he could feel himself weakening against it, weakening more and more every time he had to swing his blade. He was not inexhaustible, but he did not think Anankos was, either. Something was wrong with it, some wound open in its power that would not let it flex the fullness of its strength, and in that wound Xander found hope.

There were no more ghosts between him and his tormentor, just the distance and the immensity of the power being leveled against him. He was tired, so tired that he should have been dead, but that would not stop him. He kept walking, even as the power of Anankos dragged at his ankles and grabbed hold of his heels, trying to hold him still. He kept walking, knowing that his fight was very nearly over, that if he succeeded here then his family would be safe.

 _She_ would be safe. He allowed himself honesty, in that moment. There was no pretension in this place, no mask that he had to wear, no preconception that he had to live up to. More than anyone he felt her pushing at his back, urging him on, and with her face in his mind he walked toward the castle of Anankos, at the heart of a silent kingdom.

Throughout all that was to come, he never stopped thinking of her, and that gave him strength.

* * *

The army moved, many souls driven by one will, and Corrin walked at their head. She was not aware of the weight of the duty that had been placed on her, of the collective will that had been bound to hers; she was aware of the lives, but not of the souls, and maybe it was that ignorance that let her keep walking. But then it was also possible that, given that knowledge, she would have borne the mantle of savior on top of leader, and armored herself against the chance of pain or failure that could have dragged her down.

Azura walked beside her, and Ryoma, and Hinoka and Takumi and Sakura and Camilla and Elise, the weight of their presence multiplying her own. Each of them knew that the war would not be as simple as the last battlefield might deceive them into believing, each of them knew that there were battles still to be won. Shura's silence meant that they did not know of Arete's second death, but Azura had spoken of the things they might expect if they had let their minds wander.

There could be no real preparations for such things, of course. Pain was unique in that it couldn't be protected against, not fully, and the form it took could change from moment to moment. Each of them would have their pain in the days they would spend following Xander's trail, but they would face it together. In the quiet of the evenings when Kagero and Saizo would look away as Scarlet went into Ryoma's tent, when Elise and Sakura told each other stories of happier times they were too young to have seen, when Hinoka and Camilla spoke around their respective secrets, and in a thousand other small places each of them prepared to face horror as a single, united front. Their bonds, conscious and unconscious, would strain to hold them together.

Corrin slept rarely, lightly, fitfully. She believed in the importance of those relationships, in the power of bonds, and believed that she would find Xander and bring him home again. But the Yato thrummed in her hand as they marched, and when she lay to sleep she had bad dreams that she could not remember on waking, and she was afraid.

Any bond might be broken.


	10. An Enemy Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which ghosts are confronted and a battle lost.

Azura had never slept well; the cold dry air of Nohr and the pleasant softness of Hoshido had never really agreed with her. That had been true for as long as she could remember, even going back to when her mother was alive. Comfort was an elusive thing, always out of reach, and without it she slept fitfully. That she slept so well now, in Valla, was perhaps natural; the stillness here, the serenity, was like nothing in either of the other kingdoms she had called home. Ironic, too, that she slept so soundly only in the land where she and everyone she had ever known walked constantly in the shadow of death. The thought had occurred to her that evening as she prepared to rest and she had mentioned it in passing to Shura as he set his guard outside of her tent, but he hadn't found the idea very funny. She had gone to sleep thinking of that, of peace and silence, in her little bubble of serenity in the midst of a camp where noise was a constant in the distance.

She woke up at the sound of feet padding lightly on the grass, a break in the silence, an intrusion on the quiet. She sat up, leaning on one arm, and listened.

"Lady Corrin?" Shura did not rise.

"I need to speak to Azura, Shura. It's urgent."

"Too urgent to wait for morning? She's asleep." A pause. "You look like you should be asleep too, milady."

"Let me worry about myself." Her voice was tired, strained, weighed down by pressures of which Azura knew she was not wholly aware. "Please. I only need a minute."

"As you say, but Lady Azura is still asleep, and—"

"It's fine, Shura." Her own voice sounded strange in the tent, too loud and clear compared to the people outside. "I'm awake now. Let her in, please."

A shifting sound as Shura rose from the grass and stepped aside. Then the tent slap was opened and light poured in, too bright, Azura's eyes wincing closed against the sudden radiance. Corrin stood there, silhouetted against the light of Valla's perpetual day, seeming to weigh whether or not she actually wanted to step in. A moment longer and she did, pulling the flap closed behind her, and then she took a seat on the canvas flooring.

They sat in the quiet for a time. Azura thought to press Corrin, but did not, knowing that the other woman was gathering her thoughts.

"Azura. I've been thinking about Xander."

"Of course you have. We all have."

Corrin waved her hand dismissively, a gesture that was hard to see in the dark. "No, I mean...  _really_ thinking. You tried to sing when we fought Garon, even though that would have put your life in terrible danger. Why did you do that? What effect would your song have had?"

She could see the lanes down which Corrin's mind was wandering, the questions she would be asking herself, the hopes, the fears. The truth would best serve both of them. "I mentioned that the song I sing is the same one that was sung to Anankos in the days before he went mad. It's... almost a command, but it's also a story, and a dirge. In the old days it would touch Anankos's heart, make him feel as his human subjects felt, but in these days its primary purpose is in the breaking of his power. When I tried to sing in the throne room, I intended to disrupt the flow of Anankos's power, cut his influence off from this world. If you had killed Garon while I sang, the power would have dissipated, and Anankos would not have been able to act further on us. If not for Iago..." That wasn't true. It wasn't really about Iago, though he had interfered. In truth the failure was her own, and she had to face that. "If I had succeeded, we wouldn't be here, and Xander would be safe. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The response was instant, reflexive, from the heart, and Azura felt a warmth from the hand placed on her shoulder. "Never be sorry. You did everything you could." She took her hand away. "Would you have been hurt?"

The truth, the truth. "The song is parceled in with the curse, brushing up against it. Every time I called on its power, the curse sought me out. To cut Anankos off from your world... I would have died." That she had lied about this to Corrin, more than once, went unspoken.

"Then it's better that you failed." Corrin held up both her hands, warding off objection. "I don't mean I'm glad that all of this happened. We still have to save Xander. But you've done so much for me, Azura, and I haven't been able to thank you for it. You've carried so many secrets for so long, to protect the people around you. You are my friend, and I love you, and I want to be able to do you kindnesses in the same way you've done me."

Azura said nothing, was glad that Corrin could not see her in the dark. She reached out, felt for Corrin's hand, clasped it. Let go only after a long time.

The question Corrin had not asked was loud, obvious between the two of them. "The curse doesn't apply here. I can sing all I like, of whatever I like, and there will be no ill effects." There was more than that, but she waited for Corrin to ask it herself.

"Garon... didn't exist, when we fought him. He was just a vessel for Anankos's power." Another pause. It was quiet outside, the rest of the camp's activity dropping off as the last of the soldiers finally went to sleep. "Xander's still fighting. Do you think...?"

"Prince Xander is not as far gone as his father. Even if he succumbs to Anankos's power, he will still be himself, for the most part."

"Azura. Do you... if you get the opportunity, and you sing, can you save him?"

The answer to that should have been obvious, self-evident, but it wasn't. She could have sung to free Takumi of Iago's curse, fueled by Anankos's hatred; she could have sung to cut off Garon from the fount of Anankos's power; she could sing the songs that would wake dragons, or lull them to sleep. None of these things were of a kind with trying to break Anankos's hold over a soul. She could not free the dead with her song, or else every battle against Vallan infantry would be very, very brief. Would a living soul be more resilient, reached by her song, able to shake off the effects of an angry god? She didn't know. There was no way _to_ know.

"I will try."

"Thank you. I suppose... I suppose we'll have to live with that hope." Corrin said no more; she rose, went out from the tent, closed the flap behind her. Shura took his place before the entrance again.

Azura lay back down. Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

Xander knelt at the far end of the chamber at the heart of the complex, his breathing heavy, gravity pulling down on him with such force that his armor creaked every time he shifted. He had not slept or eaten in days, and the last time he had water was a day past, before he had stepped foot in this building. Every step in here had been torture, pushing back against the enormity of Anankos's power, against the will that had been turned wholly to keeping him back. A mile of steps marked the journey from the gates of the temple down into this chamber where the silent dragon lay in repose, and the trip had taken him over twenty hours. But he had made it. He was near to the end.

He lifted his head, looked down the length of the enormous room, which had the feel of a ruined temple lost to time, a shrine of a world that had vanished millennia ago instead of decades. Stone pillars had fallen and crumbled, masonry rotting away into loose bricks broken and piled on top of beds of dust, and at the far end hung an exquisite bust of a human face that stood over twenty feet tall.

Anankos was there, behind that face, hidden, breathing.

"YOU WILL NEVER REACH ME," the dragon said, its voice shaking the temple.

"You underestimate me," the prince said, and clenched his teeth together and pulled his right foot forward, digging a furrow in the ground with the motion. The step took half a second to perform, but he collapsed into a kneeling position after it, gasping for air. The pain in his blood had spread to his muscles, like fire being injected directly into his flesh. He ignored the pain, but gave tribute to the exhaustion. "You have underestimated me with every step."

"I COULD NOT EXPECT SUCH STRENGTH FROM YOU, COULD I?" The dragon's voice was not a physical thing, not in this temple, and did not have a physical source. Xander could not actually  _hear_ if Anankos was exhausted. Yet he believed. "THAT YOU HAVE TRAVELED ACROSS MY REALM, INTO MY CHAMBER, IS PROOF THAT YOU ARE THE VESSEL I NEED. YOU WILL FINISH THE WORK, MY WORK, THAT YOUR FATHER BEGAN."

"Find yourself another puppet, wretch." Xander spit on the ground, or tried to and found his mouth too dry. "The only work to be finished here is in killing you."

"FOOLISH MAN, BORN OF A FOOLISH PEOPLE, DESCENDED FROM A FOOLISH PROGENITOR. CAN YOU NOT FEEL IT WITHIN YOURSELF? YOU LIFT YOUR SWORD, AND YOUR STRENGTH BLEEDS OUT OF YOU. YOU MOVE YOUR FEET, AND MY POWER MOVES TO REPLACE YOUR OWN, CARRIED BY THE CONDUIT OF MY BLOOD. EVERY EFFORT BRINGS YOU CLOSER AND CLOSER TO OBLIVION."

It was true, and Xander could feel it, through the pain and the exhaustion and the fear and the rage. Anankos's power was filling him, and he was losing his grip on himself; that power was what was slowing him down now, warring with his own strength to impede his progress. Slowly, slowly his body was being pulled from him.

But no, it wasn't his body, not in truth. Anankos's assault was on his thoughts, on his very will. The dragon's aim was to subjugate him utterly, as his father had been subjugated, and to use him as a tool.

The thought gave him the strength he needed to speak again.

"I can feel it." The temple grew still. "You are a serpent making a nest in my thoughts, pushing me out of my own mind. If I were any weaker, you would have broken me by now." He raised his left hand, pointed across the chamber at that mockery of a human face. "But I also know this, Anankos. The more of your power you invest in me, the weaker you become. The more of your essence that you send  _here_ , the less of you remains  _there_." Xander smiled, and it came from a place of anticipation, of hunger, and he hoped that the dragon could know fear. "Shall I tell you what I think?"

"YOUR THOUGHTS ARE NOT A CONCERN. YOU ARE A  _WORM_."

"I think that when my father died, he took a very great deal of your power with him." His fingers tightened on Siegfried's hilt, where the leather had long since worn away so that now he was gripping unwrapped metal. "Bereft of so _much_ of your power, you seek to add mine to your own, or buy time to replenish your strength. I think," he heaved, pushing himself up with both his legs and with his free hand, hissing as he rose into a standing position, "that you are wondering the same thing I am: where is the equilibrium? How much more power can you pour into me before you have none left for yourself, and I walk across this chamber and—"

"NOHR WILL FALL."

He tried to take a step, found he could not, ground his teeth until he thought they would crack.

"HOSHIDO WILL FALL, BUT NOHR WILL FALL FIRST. BY YOUR HAND BOTH KINGDOMS WILL BE UNDONE, AND ALL THE LAND OVER WHICH HUMANITY TEEMS WILL BURN. YOUR SWORD WILL CUT THE THREAD OF HUMAN LIFE, AND ALL OF THEM WILL DROP INTO THE ABYSS IN JUST PUNISHMENT FOR THEIR TRANSGRESSION, THEIR FORGETFULNESS." The voice began to oscillate between high and low, a whisper and a scream, and the sound of it was like being hit in the head with a hammer, over and over. "IT WILL TAKE NO EFFORT TO MAKE YOU KILL THE HOSHIDANS, BUT TO MAKE YOU DESTROY NOHR WILL BE A FEAT. DO NOT FRET; I AM PATIENT. I WILL USE YOUR HANDS TO SQUEEZE THE LIFE FROM THE THROATS OF YOUR BROTHER AND SISTERS; WITH YOUR EYES I WILL WATCH THE LIGHT FADE FROM THEIRS."

Xander heaved, and could not move his legs, fury overwhelming his determination. With both hands he grasped Siegfried's hilt, and the sword writhed in his grip, liquid darkness boiling off of it and pooling on the floor in a spreading miasma.

"THEY WILL COME TO ME IN THE DARK, XANDER, AND ALL OF THEM WILL BE MINE. AND," a low growl, an animal sound that reverberated from beneath the earth, "I SEE HER. I SEE HER IN YOUR HEART,  _SHE_ WHO IS OF  _MY_ BLOOD, WHO BY ALL RIGHTS IS  _MINE_ AND  _YOU_ WILL  _MAKE_ HER MINE, SHE WILL JOIN ME IN OBLIVION AND YOU WILL CARRY HER ACROSS THE THRESH—"

He screamed, then, hoisting Siegfried above his head, and the ebony sword opened wide its terrible eye. The air between Xander and Anankos yawned, light being pushed out by the darkness, a conduit for destruction. He screamed and willed Siegfried to kill, and the sacred blade hurled devastation through the air, a black thunderbolt that shattered the world.

Anankos's roar was drowned out by the sound of Siegfried's power and Xander's voice, and Siegfried released another bolt, and there was a second explosion at the far end of the hall. A wave of concussive force rolled out from that point, bricks sent flying like dust and pillars shattering into pebbles, and Xander stood in the tumult and screamed. His arms could hold his weapon aloft no longer, and Siegfried's blade hit the floor.

"Hear me, beast!" Anankos was not dead; he knew he could not hope for that. Not yet. "You may kill me here, but  _mine will be the last life you take_. You'll not touch her! You'll not touch any of them! With my last breath I will drag you with me into Hell!"

There was a sound from the far end of the chamber, obscured by dust and smoke and the great shivering facade behind which the dragon hid. It was a low moan, a pained sound, and as it went on it began to build, rising in timber until it became a scream, a screech, a  _howl_ , an emptying of a soul too vast for human minds to comprehend, so much pain and rage and loneliness that Xander thought the sound would kill him. He could feel Anankos rising in his thoughts, an immeasurable power turning the fullness of itself against a single human will. All at once he understood what it was he had been fighting.

That is when the attack began in earnest.

* * *

Tracking Xander was easy, though they were days behind him; every time he encountered resistance left a field of bodies to walk across, and the environment usually fared little better. Corrin pushed hard, marching the army at its limits, and according to estimates by both Nohrian and Hoshidan scouts they would be caught up to Xander in less than a day. For whatever reason, they said, he was slowing down. Corrin thought maybe she knew the reason, but did not speak it aloud, fearing the truth of it. Nobody pressed her, and that was good. On some level she was glad that Leo wasn't with her, because he would have figured it out even before she did, and he would have dragged Xander's deterioration out into the light.

So it went for several days, until they came to a temple that would be the last structure they entered in Valla. The edifice was tall, more of a palace or a ziggurat than a temple, and just to look at it Corrin could see that its chambers extended deep into the ground. Its facing was weathered and smooth, as if it had been standing in the wind for a thousand years instead of only decades. It was also  _whole_ , which meant Xander had met no resistance here. That gave her pause, but there was nowhere else he could have gone, and the scouts concurred with her conclusion. The march carried them into the temple.

It was an odd place, by Nohrian or Hoshidan standards, full of architectural styles that would have been unusual according to the traditions of either nation. One massive hall, nearly a cavern, was divided into miniature rooms with red and blue flooring that would shift their colors as the troops walked across them. There was magic there, but none of the mages or scouts could discern any danger from them, and the army marched across the hall unaffected. The partitions separating it into smaller rooms were untouched, but there were spaces for ambushes and various other traps in every dark corner. That Vallan troops hadn't been stationed there disturbed Corrin; she felt like she was missing something obvious.

Ryoma and Camilla both saw her nervousness, tried to speak to her, but she brushed them off, began to range ahead with the scouts. None of her siblings liked that much, but they didn't feel like they could stop her, either. Instead they followed her, keeping close enough that they would hear if she called out to them. She wasn't fine with that so much as she didn't protest it, because she was past worrying about decorum. Something was wrong. Why were there no signs? The place was not a labyrinth, only had one primary path forward, and Anankos did not want Xander to reach him before the corruption was complete. Where were the troops? The strongest possibility seemed to be that they had missed something, some path back outside of the temple down which Xander may have limped.

She stopped, looking at a ruined archway that had not been an archway before. Previously it had been two sets of great stone doors, one red and one blue. Both they and the wall between them had been smashed inward, the rubble scattered in a wide pattern in the next chamber. The blue and red rubble shone faintly, as if it had been lacquered  _after_ it was broken. Magic, then, though she could only guess as to its purpose. The enchantments had been broken when the doors were smashed, and there was no sign that they had been activated or had any effect. He had been through here, and he hadn't let this place stop him.

Corrin looked over her shoulder. "Hey! I think I've found the trail!"

"Wonderful, darling!" Camilla was not far behind, which meant neither were the others. "Give us just a moment and we'll fetch the scouts."

Beneath Camilla's voice, Corrin thought she heard something else, but it was drowned out by the echo.

"Wait, wait," she said. "I heard something." She turned back to the chamber, cupped her hands around her mouth. "Hello?" Her voice echoed over and over as it traveled away from her.

After a moment a call came back, distant and weak. "Corrin?" The sound of Camilla and Ryoma and the others walking up behind her nearly drowned the voice out, and she held up her hand for silence and they were still. After a moment, "Corrin!"

She thought her heart had stopped in her chest, was not aware of Sakura dropping her healing rod behind her. "Mother?"

The voice again, from far away, so weak. "Corrin! I'm here!"

Camilla behind her. "Corrin, wait—"

" _Mother!_ " She was running, bounding over the rubble as if it wasn't there. Sakura was behind her, and Takumi, and Ryoma, and Hinoka, and Azura, but she wasn't aware of them, did not wait for any of them to try to keep pace with her. In that moment, Hinoka on her pegasus would not have been able to keep up with how she ran.

"Corrin!" Camilla's voice, fading with distance. "Wait! It might be a trap!"

Another set of double doors, smashed in just as the first had been, and a single Vallan soldier's armor crumpled like a piece of origami crushed by a stick. She flew over the rubble, tripped and nearly fell, regaining her balance and bloodying her hands as she ran. She couldn't think, could barely see as she ran past the increasing number of bodies, not seeing the enormous scars that covered the surfaces of the chambers, the burn marks on the walls or the scattered armor that had been embedded in the stone by sheer force. A third set of doors flew by so that she didn't even notice, and this chamber was smaller, or at least she ran through it faster. A fourth set, and she leaped over the debris as if trying to jump over an enormous pit, the wind of her passage nearly tearing her cloak from her shoulders, and she heard and she saw and she ran to her mother.

Mikoto was seated with her back to a pillar, her mantle and cloak torn into strips that were wrapped around her diaphragm and midsection, black with old blood. Her face was flecked with the same, and her skin had a pallor that suggested she was very nearly out of blood to lose. In spite of that, in spite of how much pain she must have been in, she saw Corrin and she smiled. "Oh, my sweet child."

Corrin went to her mother and knelt next to her, taking one of Mikoto's hands in one of hers. "It's OK, Mother, I'm here now. Just wait a second, Sakura will be right here and then we'll be able to—"

"No," Mikoto said, and her smile was sad. "No, Corrin, I—"

" _Mother!_ " Sakura  _had_ been right behind her, and the rest of her siblings were in tow. The youngest Hoshidan princess's knees were bloody, crimson rivers running all the way down to her sandals, and she did not stop running until she was on Mikoto's other side. "Hold on, I can heal you!"

"No, Sakura," Mikoto said. "My gentle girl, no."

"What?" Takumi's bluster had given way to confusion, almost panic. "Why not? You look like you've nearly bled out!"

"How long have you been here?" Hinoka's hands were shaking as she took Mikoto's free hand. "How long have you been like this?"

"Days," Mikoto said, and she was still smiling as if she were talking to them over dinner. "I would have let go before, but I... I wanted to speak with all of you." Sakura had her healing rod out, began the motions of her healing dance, and Mikoto pulled her hand from Corrin's and gently raised it in a warding motion. "No, Sakura, please. I've... I've been under Anankos's power for months."

"Ever since the explosion at the square." Ryoma stood over them, his arms crossed, his face serene. His control shook Corrin, his composure unbelievable in this situation, but looking at him also made her feel like she had to be calmer. The others must have felt the same because they each reined themselves in.

The queen nodded. "Yes. I died, and Anankos brought me back under his power. It is only when I received my fatal wounds that his grip on me loosened. I've been myself for days, waiting, hoping... hoping to see you all again." She stopped, trying to compose herself. "You're safe. You're all safe. I'm so glad."

"You say that Anankos's grip on you was broken when you were struck down." Azura could not look directly at Mikoto, instead staring at the space between her adoptive mother and Corrin, leaning on her naginata for support. "You're afraid that if you're healed, you would lose yourself again."

Mikoto nodded and Sakura began to sob hopelessly, covering her face with her sleeves.

A scream filled the chamber, huge and inhuman. A wyvern careened through the broken doors, claws digging into stone to stop itself in the middle of the floor, and Camilla was on its back, axe in her hand and eyes focused on Mikoto.

The smell of ozone and the hum of distant thunder as the Fujin Yumi's string was drawn taut, its shining arrow pointed directly at Camilla. Takumi's face was a mask of rage. "Get  _back!_ "

"Put that away, Takumi." Firm, gentle, as if Mikoto were telling him to stop teasing his little sister.

He looked back at her as if she had told him to shoot her in the chest. "But-!"

"Please." A moment, and another, and then Takumi lowered his weapon. Mikoto gestured to Camilla. "I am sorry if I frightened you, but I don't think you need to worry about me hurting anyone."

"Camilla," Corrin said, and the eldest Nohrian princess did not look over. "Camilla, please, she's dying. Anankos's hold on her is broken. We just want to speak to her before... before she." She could not say the words, but Camilla put her axe away and dismounted, dropping lightly to the floor, walking slowly over to them.

"Thank you," Mikoto said, "for rushing to protect my children. In your position, I think I would have done the same." Camilla said nothing, stood apart, knowing that this was not a space for her, but she offered her own smile in return. "Listen to me, please, all of you. There's so much I want to say to you, but we don't have the time. Something has happened to loosen Anankos's grip and degrade his power."

"We defeated Garon," Corrin said, barely above a whisper.

"Good. So much of his power was lost that he seeks now to replenish it. That man who came through here, with the black sword... Anankos's power was in him, but he was fighting it. If the silent dragon adds that man's power to his own, he will be as strong as he's ever been before. You can't let that happen. Do you understand? You have to stop Anankos, before the corruption is total."

"Yes, Mother." Ryoma had not moved.

"We will," Hinoka said. "We'll stop all of this."

"Anankos won't hurt anyone else. We won't let him." Takumi had found his own calm, his arm now around Sakura, who had buried her face against his shoulder.

"Good. My children... I've been gone for so little time, and you've all grown so much. I can rest easy, knowing you are here for each other." She reached down with her hand, took Corrin's again. "Be careful. Do whatever you have to do, and survive. I'm so glad that we all could be together one last time..."

Mikoto closed her eyes, and in that moment they could see through her, count the stones which had pressed against her back. Takumi shook his sister, and Sakura looked up and reached out and grabbed the edge of her mother's robes. Takumi did the same, and Hinoka, and Corrin, and Ryoma and Azura knelt and laid hands on her while Camilla stood apart and watched them all. So they remained there, in the great stone room, until Mikoto had faded, and was gone.

* * *

Anankos was a storm, a hurricane, throwing wind and lightning and crashing waves against the fortress of Xander's thoughts. He had not moved for hours, had not taken a single step, having to focus all of his will, funneling it into the simple act of maintaining itself.

The silent dragon's assault on his mind was ceaseless, ever-present, but also inconstant, its intensity ebbing and flowing from moment to moment with no sense of rhythm or discernible pattern, forcing him to keep his defenses at their strongest regardless of how hard his enemy pushed. He could feel himself tiring more rapidly than he would have otherwise, found himself wondering if this was by Anankos's design or the happy accident of a brain reduced to gibbering rage.

The castle on the sea was a metaphor he held in his mind's eye as he knelt in that chamber with the world shaking around him. The pressure was enormous, like the ocean itself was being hurled against him, and his defenses began to falter. Cracks in the mortar, a shifting in the stone of the walls.

"If you fall, he will burn your kingdom." He pushed the stone back into place, and the pressure unseated them again. "If you fall, he will destroy your people." The stones were pushed back into place but the mortar burst, water flowing around the brick. "If you fall, he will kill your family." The mortar's gaps were filled with his blood, but the walls groaned, as if the pressure would crush them all at once. "If you fall, he will do to her what he is doing to you."

The walls of his mind stood, iron-bound and heavy, and Anankos's roar grew yet more frantic. "If you fall, he will do to her what he has done to you. If you fall, he will do to her..." The walls grew higher, thicker, stone piled upon stone, a mountain's body hurled up against the screaming of the sea. "He will not do this to her. He will not do this to her. He will not do this to her. Not to her. Not to her."

**_FALL!_ **

"Not to her."

* * *

Now when Corrin walked with the scouts Ryoma walked with her. She had meant to ask him why he would do that, why he wasn't back with the others, but the same question could have been asked of her more pointedly and so she kept it to herself. Not that she minded his company; Ryoma was watchful, and he was quiet, not intruding on her thoughts. She was supposed to be scouting but spent most of her time thinking, turning the same images in her mind over and over, until the texture of her own thoughts had become alien and unfamiliar to her. That was more comfortable, in the end, but she didn't think she could have told Ryoma about it.

They lead the scouts, who were quicker and more skilled than they were but also so much more thorough that it wasn't hard for the two of them to range ahead, so they were the first to enter a four-chambered hall, the construction of which made Corrin stop in place, staring. "What in the gods' names happened here?"

"The same as everywhere else we've been, I imagine." It was almost a joke, but not quite.

The chamber they stood in was anchored to the rest of the structure, but it was the only one. The other three were suspended over the abyss by a series of chains and pulleys, these leading off into the walls. The chamber on the opposite end of the hall had three broken chain links hanging from the nearest wall, and those links looked like they had been smashed by a blow of force. Looking at the way the chamber was wedged against the northern edge of the hall, Corrin had the feeling that it was probably meant to move back and forth—a way to separate invading troops and allow them to be picked off more easily. Not a bad idea against any normal force.

The chamber they stood in had two openings, one leading north and one leading south, and before she investigated she had guessed what she'd see; the north door was nearly caved in, broken armor lying piled in the the threshold. She pointed toward it and Ryoma nodded, placing his hand on the Raijinto's hilt as they walked together.

The center and northern chambers were adjoined by a walled platform that was askew, the northern end opening into a hole that had been smashed in the wall.

"It seems Xander wasn't as patient as our enemies had hoped." She crossed the chamber, looked down in the gap between the door and the hole.

"I have to admit I'm not sure what I'm looking at." His tone was an invitation to educate him; Ryoma did not often go so far as to admit his ignorance out loud, but was eager to learn where he could.

"The chains attached to the exteriors of these platforms and chambers were used to move them back and forth inside the hall, using mechanisms embedded in the walls. If I had to guess, they're probably used to limit troop movement, since only so many could fit on a platform at a time. When troops moved off the platforms and into the adjoining chambers, they would be effectively stranded and much easier to attack for the defenders."

Ryoma's brows knit as he stepped across the gap into the northern chamber, holding out his hand and helping her across. "A shrewd strategy. It seems like it would have been very effective, if not for the fact that the enemy in this case was a single man."

She nodded, but did not answer as they walked through the northern chamber. By protocol they should have sent word to the other scouts, but this as the only path that was open to them; none of the chambers or platforms were moving now, the mechanisms most likely destroyed when Xander cut his way through. And cut his way through he had done: the scores of battle were all over the walls, brown stone burned black by the passing of Siegfried's aura, armor scattered and crushed by blows of the blade itself, the very room torn apart as if he had been unable to control himself. She thought of fighting him on the roof, months ago, the proof that she was ready to leave the fortress, the triumph she had felt when she had knocked him from his horse. He had been so in control, then, so restrained so that he wouldn't hurt her. How desperate must he have felt, that he would lash out so blindly, unleash his strength so completely against enemies that stood no chance against him? How much pain was he in? How much fear?

She must have let her train of thought show on her face, because Ryoma looked down at her as they walked, and his tone was gentle like it was when he spoke to Sakura. "You're afraid for him." The framing of his facial armor made him look fierce, or was supposed to, but it also exaggerated his worried expression. "You should not be. I do not know Prince Xander, save that the two of us do not see eye to eye with regards to you, but his strength is plain."

She nodded, not because he was right but because she did not want to argue with him; he probably didn't wholly believe what he was saying, but he was saying it for her benefit and she wanted to respect the attempt even if it didn't help as much as he thought it did. The even-keeled, measured pace of his walk, his hand resting on his sword, even the way his face was framed by the ceremonial armor he wore; all of it served to isolate him physically in the same way he isolated himself emotionally. It wasn't fair to him, but she thought of how calm he had been as their Mother died for the second time. He had not shed a single tear, not had his voice crack, not been shaken in any way. That one person could be so in control of themselves, could lash down the extremities of their emotions, was well and good on its own, but she found herself resenting him for what seemed to be his invincibility, or his willingness to shut himself off completely from his pain. Did he even know how to be afraid?

Of course he did. Of course he was afraid, and angry. He had attacked Mikoto's assassin in a rage, that day in the market square, and that he had not acted out that way since did not mean he was incapable of it. But his strength was of a different character, almost like Xander's, and his expectations were shaped by it. There was still a gulf of understanding between the two of them, no matter how much she respected her older brother.

Corrin would later decide that he had just been trying to make her feel better, and would be ashamed, but it did not occur to her as they crossed the threshold into the third chamber. The stone there was flush, properly aligned, the mechanism having been broken at the end of one of its rotations, and for a second she wondered if Xander had actually been through it because there was no damage to the frame, but as she stepped into the stone room that concern evaporated. After a second of looking at the walls, though, she wondered what  _else_ could have happened.

Ryoma walked past her, saying nothing, and she did not notice that his pace had changed, his footsteps becoming irregular as his boots beat a pace toward the center of the room.

Whatever had happened here had been a world removed from the other rooms: instead of being scattered more or less evenly all over the floor, broken armor and weapons were piled against the walls, giving the impression of a lazy giant sweeping them into the corners, or of a strong wind. Instead of the handful of gouges in the walls that showed where Siegfried had been swung with rage and abandon, the four walls and even the ceiling were  _covered_ in gaps and fractures, dozens of them, so everywhere one looked stone was shattered and scorched, making it impossible to tell what the room had looked like before. She walked through, looking up and turning, trying to take in everything, failing.

"What  _happened_ here?" No answer. "Ryoma?"

Her elder brother was on his knees in the middle of the room in front of a pair of swords, the tips of which had been thrust into the stone. Their blades were exquisite, even to her untrained eye, and she could hear the air currents parting around them. Being stuck into the floor like that should have ruined them, but they did not seem to be affected in any meaningful way; but then, maybe they had not seen battle, and that was why the finish on them still looked flawless, mirror-like even in the low light.

Ryoma reached out to them with shaking hands, and Corrin stood behind him, uncomprehending.

"Father was a peerless swordsman. It is said that he was a match for Garon himself in combat." Ryoma's voice did not waver but he could not still himself even when clenching his fists. "He carried the Hagakure blades, weapons of unparalleled... unparalleled fineness, to match his skill. Even the Raijinto found its peer in those swords." He placed his fists on his thighs, breathed deep, tried to still himself. "We never recovered them, when he died. They were one of our national treasures, crafted by the greatest mortal swordsmith who ever lived, and we assumed they had been lost to us forever. I had planned to make the return of those blades one of our national demands during peace negotiations, but now." She couldn't see his face, or most of his body past the wildness of his hair, and was glad for that separation between them.

The High Prince got to his feet, went to one of the walls, and began to circle the room clockwise, examining the piled armor along the walls. He had walked nearly halfway around when he stopped, knelt, rummaged, and then rose holding two plain scabbards of a length and shape that fit the Hagakure blades. He held them in his hands as he walked back to the center of the room, and she could not tell from looking but she thought he must have been clutching them so hard as to drive the blood from his knuckles.

He stopped in front of the blades, turned to her. "Do not tell the others what we've found. Please. I will tell them in time, once all of this is over, but right now, after what we saw with Mother." He stopped, and she saw his shoulders shake as he exhaled, but his eyes betrayed nothing and his voice never wavered. "I do not want them knowing what happened to Father, not while we need them at their best. Will you keep your silence?" She nodded. "Thank you. As head of the family, this will be my responsibility; I will say that I found them alone, and you were not aware."

She wanted to protest, but she saw that he was on the edge of pleading and the words died in her mouth and she nodded again.

Ryoma knelt before the swords, drawing them out of the ground, inspecting the blades with his fingers, looking down their lengths. Corrin thought of a man who had died defending his daughter, and who had spent more than a decade—she was not even sure how many years—with his will subsumed by another power. She thought of what that must have been like, had no frame of reference for it, tried to let go but her imagination had started running and she wondered how it would have been if a stray arrow had flown past her father's defenses and found her instead. How many people, people she loved,  _could_ die in the next battle? How long would they spend wandering in the dark, no longer the masters of their own souls? Did such a thing ever truly end? She thought of her father's broad shoulders as he stood in front of her, sword drawn, and of her older brother here, now, tending to the weapons of a ghost. How such stories tended to end, so much quiet, so few tears shed when they merited the entire world weeping.

Ryoma sheathed the blades, and the sound of them driven home was enormous in the silence.

* * *

The pressure was gone, its absence so sudden and so stark that for a moment it felt like a new avenue of attack, but Anankos's screams had died away, too.

Xander charged, Siegfried in his hands, blade carried low as he closed the distance between himself and the relief of an enormous human face. His vision was clear, his steps were light, and he set his jaw and his thoughts against whatever retaliation might be coming.

He was exhausted beyond the extremes of what he thought he could survive, but that did not matter. There was no space for thought in that room, nor pain, only for action, and though he ran in silence his sword was roaring, shaking the entirety of the temple, black flames rising from it to fill the air in his wake. Anankos's power still churned in his blood, filled the recesses of his body, but he gathered his own strength for one last push. He gauged the distance to the dragon's face behind the mask, the height it was hoisted above the floor, the exact step where he would strike. In that blow he would pour all of himself, every last drop of his strength, and in that moment Anankos would overwhelm him but he would kill the beast, he would cut so deep there would be no surviving even for a god, and he would be dead but it would be  _done_.

" _SHE IS HERE_."

Anankos's awareness was adjacent to his own, and he knew it was true. Corrin was outside of the chamber now, only a minute away, looking up at the door with clear eyes, and she was  _safe_ , she had made it through all the world and found him and she was alive, and relief washed over him in a flood. It was a balm to his wounds, a prop to the strength of his heart.

And that same relief was a crack in his armor, a gap in the wall of his fortress. It was one moment of vulnerability, but a moment was all it took.

The power slammed into his mind all at once, a mountain dropped onto him from the heavens, and he hit the ground with a scream and was lost to the silence.

* * *

The royal siblings, adoptive and blood-related, all walked together, with Corrin at their head and the army walking at their back. It had been very little time since Ryoma and Corrin had found the place where Sumeragi had died for the second time, and now they stood in front of a temple with great stone doors. The doors had been flung open and inward, but no more violence had been done there.

"He's here," Corrin said to them, and she knew that that could have meant either Xander or Anankos but didn't care to clarify.

"We're here for you, darling." Camilla stepped forward to stand next to her, looking at the ancient edifice, all dust and stone like a temple that was being excavated. "No matter what happens, we're here for you."

"We should hurry." Ryoma shifted his shoulders, looking into the open doors, where there was more shadow than light. "We may be running out of time."

Corrin looked back, tried to gauge the composition of their forces. The retainers and most of the elite were with them at the vanguard, but the body of the army was still behind them by at least several minutes. "I understand, and no one wants to rescue Xander more than I do, but we can't go in without some sort of plan—"

Xander's scream from inside the temple was long and loud and pained, cutting off too abruptly at the end.

"Never mind!" She said, and she was running and her brothers and sisters were running with her. The steps leading to the temple doors were slick with dust, but none of them lost a step, and they entered that house of shadows and silence as a group. The foyer was small, lit on all sides by torches, and they should have sent scouts ahead but they did not, Corrin and Camilla and Ryoma leading the charge as they crossed into the main hall—and stopped, absolutely still, as Corrin felt hope wither.

Xander stood there, Siegfried at his side, and his sword was silent. The light of the hall did not reach him, as if he was leeching radiance from the air so that one could only barely see the enormous stone face at the rear of the hall. His expression was wrong, too neutral, the lines of his forehead smoothed out. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in the set of his mouth. Nothing. An aura clung to him, an inky darkness, slicked through with purple hues, and that power radiated from his eyes.

"Xander?" Elise was holding a healing staff, a particularly potent Recover staff that she had brought specifically to tend to her brother's wounds, but she held it between herself and Xander, unsure if she would need to protect herself or not. "Do you recognize me, big brother?" His eyes flicked toward her, and she shrank back from him.

"I don't think it's going to be that easy, Elise." Corrin had one hand on the Yato, but did not draw it, could not allow herself to because in that moment she was not sure what she would do, or even could do. Lower, a whisper: "Azura?"

Azura had been silent up to now, studying Xander, watching him. She answered in a low voice, not taking her eyes off of him: "It's bad, but it's not irreversible. I'm going to need a moment to get started."

"You'll get it." Corrin stepped forward, hand off the Yato now. "Xander! We're here now. It's OK. I know you've been waiting for us. We're going to take you home." Behind her the movement of air, the shifting of arms, the first beat of the rhythm. Xander wouldn't look at her. "Can you hear me?"

"Corrin." Lightning to her left as Ryoma drew the Raijinto. She looked at him for only a second, saw he was sweating, trying to read Xander's stance even though he hadn't assumed one. "I don't think it's going to be that simple."

"I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner, but we're here now. All of us are here now. Nohr is waiting for you, Xander! She needs her king!" A splash of water and a building of power, and Xander still wouldn't look at her and she suddenly realized why: _he was looking at Azura_.

The air was whirling, Azura was whirling, her voice raised in a high clear note: " _You—_ "

The note was drowned out in a roar as Xander swung and Siegfried's power filled the air with black fire, hurtling toward Azura, and Corrin did not think as she moved.

She threw her arms wide as she stepped in front of the singer. The power slammed into her, burning her, buffeting her like the blows of a hammer as large as her own body. The pain was her whole world, and time melted away.

Then it was over, the fire was gone, and Xander was looking at her with wide eyes. She spoke over her shoulder, "Azura?"

"I'm.... I'm fine. But, Corrin, you—"

"I'm OK," she said. "Not as bad as I thought it would be. Keep going. We'll hold him off. You help him. You have to... you have to keep." She swayed, reached out for something to hold herself up, found nothing. "You have to keep singing."

She fell forward, and as the blackness took her she saw Xander's face twist in pain, mouthing her name.  _Oh,_ she thought.  _He can still see me. That's good. That's_

Corrin hit the ground. She did not hear a prince, in the clutches of a dragon's power, begin to scream.


	11. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Corrin confronts death and the people she leads try to survive.

"Lady Corrin. Lady Corrin, it's time to wake up." Flora's voice, calling her up out of the dark.

"Five more minutes," she said, turning over, pulling the covers tighter around herself. She couldn't have said why, but she was more tired than she'd ever been in her life, her legs begging not to move and her head refusing to rise from its pillow. She cracked her eyes open, saw the stone of her room in the Northern Fortress, let them close again.

"I'm afraid five minutes may be too late," her maid said, and something ticked inside of Corrin's head. She sat up, pushing the covers back, turned to look at the woman who had been one of her closest confidants since she was small. Flora's expression was neutral in her refined, practiced way, and nothing seemed amiss at first glance but something itched at Corrin's thoughts. "Oh, good. I suppose I won't have to prescribe the Ice Tribe's cure for laziness."

She looked around the chamber, and it occurred to her what was wrong. "Why are we alone? Felicia's usually with you, and Jakob's  _always_ waiting for me to wake up."

"Felicia is tending to your armor, Lady Corrin. Jakob is making sure that she doesn't destroy it in the attempt."

Cotton in her head, crowding her thoughts, making it hard to link things together. "That... makes sense. Felicia's more enthusiastic than skilled, for that sort of work. Listen, when you said five minutes may be too late—"

"Of course," Flora said, whipping the covers off of the bed, folding the sheets evenly and crisply as she talked. "Prince Xander is waiting for you on the roof. You're going to be late for your sparring session if you don't hurry and fetch your armor."

"Xander's... here?" She swung her feet off of the bed, wasn't sure if she felt up to standing.

Flora stopped, looked at her, and in the stillness Corrin realized on a conscious level that something was very wrong. What had happened here? "Where else would he be, my lady?"

A scream echoed across her thoughts, a voice so frantic she did not recognize it, pulling her out of her reverie. Her thoughts were scattered and she reached out to each of them in turn, grabbing at them like falling leaves, pulling them close to her. "I was... I was  _with_ him. Something was wrong. I remember Ryoma was there... Ryoma?" She nearly dropped it all, nearly let it all slip into oblivion. Ryoma, the Hoshidan prince, and Xander, in the same place? An image of a lightning blade danced across her thoughts, and a woman in white whirling as she raised her voice, and a wall of black fire. "Xander... Xander tried to kill Azura, and I... jumped in the way." The leaves had ceased to fall, and she looked at Flora, who she had watched burn to nothing in a snowy village, far to the north. "Flora. Am I dead?"

The maid shook her head. "No, my lady. You linger, still, as I linger—though not for the same reason." She reached out with one hand, and Corrin took it, letting Flora pull her to her feet. The smaller woman was strong, so much stronger than her frame would suggest, just like her sister. "You still have a choice to make. The world is calling to you, begging you to return to it, but that is not the only option. You can let go, and leave the world and all of its concerns behind. What happens there won't be your responsibility anymore, and you would stay here, outside of time."

Flora had been here for weeks, ever since before that battle with Leo where the world had changed again. She thought of her here, alone, and Corrin's heart broke in her chest. "What's kept you here, Flora? Why do you linger?"

Her maid, her friend, reached up with both hands and cupped her cheeks, a thing she had not done since they were girls. Her palms, her fingers, were very cool. The world around them softened, the stone of the Northern Fortress blurring and becoming less concrete in its shape, brightening. The wind picked up, cold, so cold that Flora's hands felt warm in the gale, and the open sky yawned above them. Corrin did not need to look to know that they were in the village of the Ice Tribe.

Flora smiled, and like every time she had smiled in life it was an expression of sadness.

"Regret, I think."

* * *

"Corrin! _Corrin!_   ** _CORRIN!_** "

She fell and Xander screamed her name and Ryoma crossed the distance with the Raijinto splitting the air.

He struck, the blow scoring Xander across the chest, catching against Siegfried's blade, throwing the Nohrian prince's guard open for a second strike. The second blow cut Xander's armor across his shoulder, and Ryoma swung again. Xander swung the Siegfried to intercept the blow, but even that motion opened his guard from another angle and Ryoma swung for a fourth time, slicing clean through the gambeson protecting Xander's armpit, not quite biting through his flesh. He swung for a fifth time and Xander turned to meet the blow in full, Siegfried and the Raijnto clashing openly in the air between them. Arcs of fire and lightning peeled off from that point, tearing up the floor around them, striking the walls, the ceiling, the entire temple shaking as the sacred weapons tried to eat each other.

That one exchange told Ryoma everything he needed to know about why his father could have lost to this man: meeting the blow from the black sword sent a shockwave through his entire torso, and if not for the bracers supporting his wrists he was certain that it would have broken his arms. He squared his feet, tried to push, but the Nohrian prince was immovable, and their faces were inches away from each other and he looked into the eyes of the man who had just tried to kill two women that they both called sister. Those eyes were frantic, tear-filled, frightened, but then they saw him and focused on him and something came to life there, a fire that burned as surely as actual flame and he did not know what to name it because no one had ever looked at him with real hatred before.

" _Thief_ ," Xander said, and shoved.

"Form a line!" Camilla's voice behind him, a command that grabbed hold of Hoshidan and Nohrian alike. "Protect Corrin! Protect Azura!"

Ryoma braced himself for the blow that would follow the shove, but Xander looked to Azura and swung again. Ryoma came in low, bringing up the Raijinto with all the force of his body, striking Siegfried so that the horizontal arc of the blow was thrown upward. He watched the destructive power of the sword sail toward the singer, saw the bandit Shura tackle her to the ground before she could react. The power passed so near to the two of them that Shura's cloak caught fire before they had even hit the ground, but he dared not look to see what damage had been done.

"Prince Xander," he said, and the Raijinto sang in his hands as he swiped at the other man's throat—there was no point in being gentle, especially against the speed at which Xander deflected the blow. "You must gain control of yourself. We are here to help you, not to harm you!"

" _Thief!_ " The black sword flashed and it took all of Ryoma's skill to deflect it, not daring to block it, and even the act of turning it away sent a shockwave through him, cracking his ribs. He struck Xander with the back of his left hand, felt his bracer crack against the other man's jaw.

Ryoma lost himself to the rhythm of their blades, lightning splitting the dark over and over as the world shook around them, his body moving automatically, his training the only thing keeping him alive from moment to moment. What could drive the other man so, could put that word on his lips with so much hatred, so much open bile? What had he done?

Tears were running down Xander's face, flung wide as the swords clashed, and Ryoma understood two things: first, why this man called him thief, thief of the treasure of his heart. Second, that he was not going to survive this encounter, that he had lost before he had ever swung the Raijinto.

Still he fought, roaring defiance against his doom. Xander screamed too, but it was not a sound of hate, or rage, or pain, or fear.

* * *

Flora let go of her face, stepped back from her. "I wanted so much to go with you, Lady Corrin. Please understand that I wanted nothing more than to walk with you on the path of righteousness, to stay with you through the end."

"Flora..."

"No. Please. I know the choice was not mine; I have had time to reflect on that, since we last spoke. But still I carry the burden of regret, and it will weigh me down forever. I turned against you out of cowardice, betrayed my sister and my principles because I was not willing to fight against the things I feared. Everything I had built with you, with both of you, I threw it away. I deserved everything that happened to me."

As they spoke, Corrin's eyes tried to shift out of focus, but she fought to keep them on Flora, to see what she could not see before: Flora was burning, engulfed in flames as she had been in the real village.

"Flora!"

"That was my just punishment, lady Corrin. For my cowardice, and for my faithlessness. Resentment and fear were stronger than love, stronger than justice, and I burned for it." The fire ate at her, but she looked serene, her flesh untouched even as her silhouette began to shrink. "I will burn for it again. And again. And again, until my regret is eaten away."

Corrin did not think as she ran across to the other woman, plunging through the heat of the fire (what fear had she of burns when she was dead?) to wrap her arms around Flora. The touch was unbearable, a pain like she had never felt before, and she could feel her hair catch fire in Flora's conflagration.

"None of that matters, Flora!"

"Lady Corrin!" Flora's hands were against her shoulders, her chest, trying to push her off. "Let go!"

"No! I'm here for you, no matter what, because I couldn't be before." The fire ate at her, but she spoke clearly, her words coming from a place that pain could not reach. "How could you regret what you did, Flora? You did what you did to protect your people from Garon, to keep your entire tribe from being wiped out like a dozen that had preceded it. You knew he would kill them! What choice did you have, no matter who got hurt?"

"I betrayed you," Flora said, but she wasn't trying to push Corrin away anymore, and Corrin pulled the other woman hard against her. The fire did not even hurt anymore, had given way to something else, a thing from past where pain stood, and she wondered if her frame was burning away as well.

"I love you, Flora. You've been a sister to me, even when you had every reason to hate me. Please don't regret what happened. Please. I'm not angry at you. I never could be."

Then it was over, and the fire was gone. The cool wind blew all around them, biting cold, and Corrin felt it blowing through her hair, which she had thought burned away.

"I loved you, too." Flora's voice was muffled, her face pressed to Corrin's body, and she would not look up. "Even when I hated you, hated every person in that castle, I loved you too. You were a prisoner, just like me and my sister. That's... that's why it hurts so much."

"Look at me." Flora did look at her, turning her head up, and Corrin looked down at her and saw a lifetime of restraint and servitude and pain and quiet reflected by the light in her eyes. "I'm going back. When I get there, I'm going to finish what I have to, and then I'm going to take Felicia and we're going to go visit your village, tend to your grave. No matter what happened between us in the end, that doesn't change who we are or what we had before. All right?"

Flora nodded, sniffed, pushed lightly against her, and only then did Corrin let her go. Flora stepped back, straightened her skirts and apron, squaring away her appearance, a meditative act that went further back than Corrin's memory. "All right. I'll be watching you, Lady Corrin. Be strong, because where you are going you'll need your strength. Promise me."

She smiled, because it was the sort of thing she had not heard the other woman say in years. "I don't know if I can promise strength, but I can promise I'll try. For you, and for everyone else."

Flora bowed deep, from the waist, not a motion of fealty but of gratitude, respect. "Thank you." The wind picked up, howling so much that she had to raise her voice. "Before you go, there is one other person who wants to speak with you."

The snow grew thicker, denser, drowning out the world in white so that the village beyond them was gone, and it was just Flora and her standing in the storm. "Who?"

"You will have to see for yourself," Flora said, with her old, sad smile. "Goodbye, my lady. May the gods watch over you, as I will."

The whiteness engulfed her, and Flora was gone, obscured by cold and by snow. Corrin shielded her face against the wind, squeezing her eyes shut from the flakes that were getting caught in her eyelashes. The time that passed like that was interminable, sliding over into infinity, and she wondered how the world of the dead related to the world of the living. It was an odd question to contemplate.

The wind died, the snow becoming something more like a regular fall rather than a magical blizzard, and she stood on stone, surrounded by crenelations on all sides. The moon hung high above her, and the wind was bitter but not quite so cold. She breathed deep the familiar air of the Northern Fortress once more, and then looked across the roof of the tower to the other who stood there.

A black cloak, trimmed in white fur, the high collar obscuring the face completely as the figure stood turned away from her. The stance was that of a man, the set of his shoulders that of a giant, and as he turned she saw the white hair, the thorned black crown, the purple sash of office worn over a warrior's armor in black and gold.

"Garon?"

* * *

Xander swung with a twist of his arms, catching the Raijinto at an angle that broke Ryoma's grip, sending the sacred blade spinning through the air. Ryoma traced the arc of its flight with his eyes, watched it clatter to the stone flooring, turned to look at Xander again. The Nohrian prince might have shown an expression of triumph, but there was nothing like that; just more anger, more pain. The Nohrian swung again and Ryoma ducked under the blow, pivoting his entire body, rolling across the floor. The shockwave of Siegfried's power caught his left foot, and he felt the ankle break in its passing. A roar, another swing, this one an overhead strike, and it was all he could do to use his good foot to lunge out of the way. He never stopped moving, and his hands went to the scabbards he had kept strapped to his back, where they were protected, not meant to be used.

He drew the Hagakure blades and Xander turned to face him, slowly. The other man's eyes focused on the swords for the moment. Recognition, perhaps.

"All right then," Ryoma said, hefting both blades in his hands, testing the weight, finding them exquisite, perfectly balanced. A good weapon to hold as one died. "Come on!"

He had fought Xander for the space of twelve seconds. He wondered how long his father had lasted. A stupid thought, as the other prince's sword was raised for the killing exchange.

A wyvern screamed—a wyvern he  _knew_ —and a tremendous weight crashed into him, tossing him into the air like a child's toy. He hung there for a moment before he hit something, a pair of arms that wrapped hard around his torso. The sound of leathery wings beating as they rose into the air.

"Hold on to me!" Scarlet's Chevois accent came out in that moment, and he embraced her, face-to-face, as she used the reins in her right hand to try to control her wyvern, craning her neck to see over his shoulder, around his hair. "This isn't going to be pretty!"

Siegfried roared beneath them, from a place that Ryoma could not see around the wyvern's bulk, and he felt Scarlet pull hard on the reins. A wave of destructive force slammed into them, shattering the wyvern's armor, and the beast screamed. Not fatal, from the sound it was making, but then they began to tumble through the air.

"Shit!" Scarlet's left arm tightened further, squeezing hard against his cracked ribs. "Sorry, Your Highness. This is about to get bumpy."

Another buffeting blast passed by them, missing the wyvern by inches, blasting its wings around as if it were in a hurricane, and the three of them crashed against the stone flooring. The wyvern rolled, hard, and the two of them were thrown clear from the saddle. There was a sense of weightlessness as Scarlet wrapped both of her arms around him, tensing every muscle in her body for the impact, and then there was an enormous crash that was more of a sound and not a feeling because he did not feel anything at all.

He knew he had lost some seconds as he lay on the ground, and that one of his legs was broken. He was not sure of where he was, then, though he held two swords in his hands.

Xander was charging across the floor at him, and he remembered then that he had been preparing to die. Had he been flung so far in one exchange? Impressive that he had survived at all, then. The Nohrian prince was a magnificent opponent—a wonder that he had not been on the front lines, seeking to tear down Hoshido with his own hands. In some remote part of his brain Ryoma was glad that he had been able to fight against someone so powerful, even if it had not been for very long. He had bought some time for the others, though he could not say if it would be enough.

Then there was a glittering red blur in front of him, charging to meet the Hoshidan prince. Her armor was the color of blood, and her short-cropped hair had a streak of crimson in it from a gash in her scalp, and her spear was decorated in mosaic patterns that threw a hundred lights in a hundred directions as she thrust it in the light of the torches.

"Scarlet." What was she doing there? She shouldn't be fighting Xander—the man was her prince. That was a mistake. He had to tell her, before something happened.

She thrust and retreated, dancing with the tip of the spear in patterns that tricked the eye of swordsmen, moving her feet in and out to extend or shorten her reach. Siegfried swung through the air and she batted the weapon aside, using its momentum against it, throwing off a blow that spit corrosive power at the ceiling. She danced in, thrust at the swordsman's throat, pulled back as he deflected the thrust with his gauntlet. He stepped in, too fast to dance away from, brought Siegfried around in an overhead smash. She threw her spear up, catching the blow—and the force of it drove her to one knee, the shock rupturing the binding that held glass to steel, sending her armor's decorations scattering in all directions like shooting stars, twinkling in the air as they sailed.

"Get away from him!" She pushed with all the strength in her body, slipping out from under Xander's sword, sweeping to the side and away from him, stepping back between him and Ryoma. The fallen prince had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful in his life. "You won't kill him, do you understand me? You have to get through me first!"

Xander looked at her, and Ryoma could not see her face but he could see  _his_ , the acknowledgement in his glowing eyes, acknowledgement both of her and of the necessity of her death, and Ryoma knew where he was again.

" _Scarlet!_ "

* * *

The king's face had not changed in all the years she had ever known him, but he looked different now. His flesh did not sag on his face with the weight of something more than age; it just creased in lines that suggested old laughters, old rages, old tears. The beard that made up so much of his profile was trimmed down, still as snow-white as his hair but now forming a clean line that accentuated his jaw rather than hiding it. His eyes had only ever been burning coals, but now they were softer, quieter, sadder, echoing the eyes of his oldest son. Garon was handsome, Corrin thought, handsome like Xander might be in another twenty or thirty years, a man who carried the weight of empire and did not delight in its pressures.

Still she reached for the Yato, the reflex faster and stronger than her curiosity. The sword wasn't there, and she looked down in shock before she remembered where she was.

"You won't need a weapon here," he said, and that voice made her look up so fast it hurt her neck. He sounded so different it was as if he were a totally different person. "What I was... I am no longer. No harm will come to you here, even if it could."

Her mother was dead, and her father, and she could not guess at what has happening now that she was lingering between the worlds. She couldn't keep the anger, the _fury_ out of her voice, and if she could have she wouldn't have wanted to. It was all she could do not to attack him with her bare hands. "What are you doing here, Garon?"

The wind howled, billowing his cloak out and away from him, and he looked strange in the moonlight as he stared at her in the quiet, as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe he was, she thought, but she begrudged the thought its existence. "You are right to hate me, Corrin, but for now you must listen to what I say."

"Why? What has that ever gained me, save heartache?"

"Anankos held me to his breast for decades." His words cut through the wind, cut through her anger. "Decades I spent in which I was not myself. I was empty, and hollow, worse than dead, until you killed me. In the end you saved me." He stopped, looked at her. "Does that gall you?"

She said nothing.

"Perhaps it should. But I know more things about Anankos, and about his machinations, than anyone. I know the power you face as you and your gathered families fight Xander in the heart of that terrible place." There was a howling, then, and it was not the wind, came from the very sky, filling everything. "I know what you have to do to win."

The sound of the voice from the sky was like a knife in her chest, and she found tears in her eyes before she had even processed that it was a voice. "What is that? Why is it so loud?"

"That is my son," Garon said, looking up, not at the moon but past it. "He thinks he has killed you, and in his grief his heart is more open to Anankos with every moment. He has been seized by madness, and his pain will cut a swathe of devastation across the entire world."

"I won't let that happen," she said, and meant it, not daring to even think of Xander doing anything so horrible. That was impossible; it  _couldn't_  come to be, if only because she wouldn't let it. "If I stop Anankos then Xander will be free, right?"

"Yes. That is true." He tore his gaze from the sky, looked at her again, and she realized the crease in his brow was just like his eldest son's, told of the same worry. "But with things as they are now, you will fail. The Yato  _cannot_ kill Anankos."

* * *

Xander's fury slung Scarlet around like a doll, his every blow that came anywhere close to her lifting her from her feet and flinging her across the room, and for every four times she landed on her feet there was a fifth where she hit the ground hard, rolled, regained her footing with a roar. He was focusing on her now rather than on Ryoma, which had been the whole point, but she knew she would die for her prince. She, like Ryoma before her, faced that certainty with valor. Xander charged her again, and she readied her spear, thinking that if she could just pierce his skin even  _once_ —

Camilla struck Xander across the face with one of the Hoshidan dual clubs, rocking his head. Then Beruka was on his other side, the same weapon in hand, and she struck him too, not so powerfully but just as cleanly, smashing the armor on his shoulder. Selena, wearing the armor of a wyvern lord, slid into position in front of him, bringing her dual-headed weapon up in a smash that caught him on his chin, whipping his head up.

"Together, girls." Camilla pulled a second dual-headed club from her storage pouch and tossed it to Scarlet, who caught it by reflex, and then understood and fell in behind the prince, boxing him in completely.

Xander roared, turning on them, and they struck him from every angle, their clubs and their stances specially made to fight against the orthodox style of the prince wielding Siegfried. The line that had just formed in front of Corrin shrank as Benny charged out of it, spear in hand, face set, and he fell in behind Beruka as she deflected a blow from the sacred sword. So they fell to keeping the prince contained, the four Swordbreakers and Benny, who loved one of them.

Takumi commanded from the line, sending Hinoka, with Sakura carried on her saddle, to tend to Ryoma. The Hoshidan princesses crossed the gap like the wind, bringing healing magic to their eldest brother, setting his leg and ankle and retrieving his sword. Hinoka knew the blades he had in his hands but asked no questions as he sheathed them again. Peri barked orders to the Nohrians, including Elise, and between her and Takumi they formed a line of warriors that would keep Xander back from the fallen princesses, even if not for very long. They did not move forward, did not fling their magic or their arrows at him, because they knew that the length of Siegfried's blade did not dictate from how far it could end a life.

The din of steel on steel was unbelievable as Xander twisted and swung, catching incoming blows that he shouldn't have even been able to see, pivoting on his foot and turning aside blows that should have caught him blind. He did not catch all of them, or even most, but it was enough to make Selena curse out loud.

"Gods! How does he even  _do_ that!"

"Less talking." Beruka leaned in, swung, cracked his armor, leaned back out, scowled at how little affect the blow had. "More hitting."

"Easy for  _you_ to say! His Royal Highness the Prince of Punch-A-Babies is blocking everything I throw his way, and I'm  _not_ going easy on him. What, is he psychic on top of everything else?"

He was a hurricane in the middle of them that seemed to face all directions at once, and of a sudden they stopped being able to strike him at all, and his voice was raised in a scream. Every swing of their clubs bounced off of Siegfried's blade, sending shockwaves up their arms and into their skulls, and every time he struck out his blade came closer and closer to their faces, their throats, their stomachs. They had stacked on every possible layer of advantage, and he was pushing through it, implacable, unstoppable.

Beruka's eyes flicked up as he turned on her, and she saw the arc that the black sword traced as he raised it in the air. She could read his motions perfectly, a result of a long time training to kill swordmasters, and she could also see that she wouldn't be fast enough to block this one, or strong enough to withstand the shock of the blow. He was going to cut her in half, from the left shoulder to the right hip. His eyes flashed. She brought her club up anyway.

Then Benny was in front of her, and there was an interminable gap before the crash. Benny's shield, held over him like an umbrella, exploded into shards that were scattered all over the floor, and he stepped back and she saw his shield arm was broken, but he did not fall. "It's all right," he said, and his voice did not waver from the pain. "I'll protect you."

She moved past him, swinging up at Xander's face, catching him in the jaw, slinging his head around. Scarlet caught him with another blow, and Selena whooped aloud before striking him in the back of the skull. Beruka stepped in front of Benny again, warding him back, signalling for a healer, and saw that one of the Hoshidan monks was waving a healing rod from a ridiculous distance. She looked at Benny in the gap between blows, and their eyes met amidst the din. "I'll protect you too."

They both knew that promise would not hold up for long, and Xander swung, and Siegfried roared, and the temple shook.

* * *

"What do you mean 'can't kill him'? The Yato—"

"Was not prepared as it should have been." Garon was not trying to argue with her, or even especially correct her; he was just speaking facts, absolutely sure of them, and he seemed sorry to be saying them. He kept his hands folded behind his back, beneath his cloak, his posture very regal and very straight. "The holy blade was created for this purpose, yes, but the Rainbow Sage... misread certain signs. The path you walk on now should have ended with my death and the door between worlds being shut. Tell me, what is the state of your sword?"

Even without it in her hand she could feel the Yato's weight, the curvature of its blade, the sound it made as it moved through the air. "It's synchronized with the Fujin Yumi, the Raijinto, and the Brynhildr. I've taken to calling it the Howling Yato."

"An appropriate name." He reached up, touched his head as if to massage the spot where she had cut through a dragon's skull, and then lowered his hand self-consciously. "But not a form it was supposed to take. If you were on a path where you would kill Anankos, the Sage was supposed to complete the preparation of the Yato before it had synchronized with  _any_ of the sacred weapons, to make it more receptive to all of their power and to help define its final shape. Even if you were to combine its power with Siegfried's, it would not take on its ultimate form. When you fight Anankos, it will be without the Fire Emblem."

"Oh." She looked at him, realized he wasn't lying, had no reason to lie. "Then... is it pointless? How can Anankos be killed without the Yato's true power?" And how could Xander be rescued?

"Corrin." That was it: he even had Xander's voice, aged by smoke and war. "You are more than a sword." He held up his hand to her, gestured to the veins of his wrist. "The blood of dragons runs hot and bright in you, more than me and more than in any living person. If the sword will not do the work then you will have to make up the difference."

She looked at her own hands, the creases in the gloves of her gauntlets. The power of her dragon self wouldn't be enough to fight Xander, much less Anankos, by itself. Not a chance. But something in that suggestion felt right, as if it were next door to the idea she would need to be victorious. She opened her hands, clutched them into fists, opened them again.

Maybe it would be enough in the end.

Xander's scream filled the heavens again, and she looked up. "All right. I'm ready to head back, I think, and do what I can to put an end to this. In spite of everything, Garon... thank you. I think you helped."

The sound of armored boots crunching snow beneath them, the gait of a warrior crossing the roof. He stopped only a few feet away from her, and would not meet her eyes. For a long moment she didn't understand, until she saw him wrestling for his words.

"Corrin. I've never been a father to you, and I was... not a king, in the end. A king does not do what I have done." He still would not look at her. "All of the evils in your life... they are at my feet. Even driven by Anankos's power, I first had to accept him into myself. Everything. Your father, your mother, forcing you into isolation. I can't." He looked up at the sky again, trying to compose himself, and Corrin felt something inside of her change.

She reached out with both of her hands, took hold of both of his.

He looked down at her hands as if they were serpents that he had been told were defanged, but still he was waiting for the bite. "Garon. Look at me." He looked at her, then, and she saw him for what he was: tired, so very tired, and a man who had paid for all of his crimes in a way that beggared human imagination. 'Hollow' was the word he had used, and the thought of it chilled her, to be conscious without consciousness, unable to act, or think, or even  _be_ within the realm of one's own power. She thought of what Ryoma had told her, in the chamber before they had found the Hagakure blades, before the world had come crashing down on him. She thought of Flora, wreathed in flames. She saw Garon's pain written across his face, she saw his mistakes, his years that had been taken from him and perverted, and she saw Xander there, and that as much as anything was why she spoke: "It doesn't matter what you did. In the end you were a victim, too. I can't imagine what's happened to you since that day, and I can't imagine the punishment that's been visited on you. You're expecting me to hate you, and for a long time... maybe all my life... I did."

He nodded, swallowed.

"But I don't want that anymore. Not toward anyone, and not toward you. No one has suffered like you have, and I can't add my resentment on top of that suffering." She breathed deep, steeled herself. "I forgive you, Garon. I forgive you everything." And, happily, it was true. How light she felt, in that moment.

He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face from her as his mouth twisted into an enormous scowl, and then he fell to his knees, still holding onto both of her hands.

"My son isn't like me." He was sobbing, not trying to hide it, and finally he looked at her in earnest and she thought the weight of his fears and his sorrows would knock her from her feet. "Xander never asked for any of this. He is a good prince—a good  _man_. What is happening to him is worse than death, and it's not his fault. Please. I was never your father, and never your king, so I'm asking you as, as a man who knows nothing else, please,  _please save my son_." He pressed his forehead to her hands. "Please."

"I will." She meant it. The world began to brighten around her, its edges softening, and she knew that she was leaving. "I promise I will, no matter what it takes. Xander will not suffer as you have."

She was rising, then, and still he held her hands, and she his, and she kept rising and he rose to his feet and held her for just a moment longer, his grip loose, their hands sliding apart until only their fingertips touched—and then she went up, up, and the world was whiter and whiter as she rose.

He looked up at her, and his face was the last thing she saw, and he was weeping.

* * *

Xander's left hand caught Scarlet in the side of the head, sending her spinning until she hit the floor. Benny and Beruka had already been forced to retreat, and Selena was unconscious, Felicia having dragged her back to the defensive line to heal her in relative safety. Camilla stood against him because there was no one else left, save some few who he would kill in the first exchange.

He swung and she caught the blow, forcing the sword down into the floor, turning his strength against him to bury Siegfried's blade nearly half its length in the stone. He heaved and tore it out in a single motion, but in that time she struck him in the body, the left knee, his  _neck_. She moved him by sheer force of the blows but he did not stagger, and when she swung hard at his face he brought Siegfried up and blocked the strike. She shoved hard, with all the strength of her body, and the two of them were face-to-face, then.

" _Camilla,_ " he said, his voice coming out in a hiss, and his expression shifted from dead neutrality to something else, something very much like pain.

"Please, brother." Her shoulders screamed with the effort of holding him back, her every advantage in leverage and technique giving way quickly to his overwhelming power. "Please, fight this. Control yourself. I don't want to hurt you!"

" _Sister._ _Sister... end it._ " He looked into her eyes, and he was afraid, and that made  _her_ afraid. " _Don't let me... don't..._ "

But the truth was that even if she did have it in her to kill him, even if she did want to hurt him to protect the people under her care, she did not have the strength. Maybe none of them did. He forced her back and swung and she blocked the blow, and the eruption of power between the two of them nearly bowled her over. She heard but did not see the masonry at her back exploding, tasted blood in her mouth as her organs slammed against each other. She stepped back toward him, went in with a flurry of blows that was out of a textbook at the academy, each of them so crushing that they would have killed a normal swordsman as easily as a beetle, but his sword intercepted every attempt, and his face had relaxed into that distant, dead look.

She stepped back and with her right foot kicked him hard in the chest, and in response he kicked her in the stomach. She was sent hurtling backwards, felt her ribs break. She managed to land in a kneeling position, pulled herself up to stand, and Xander was not charging at her—he was just walking. She heard Selena, newly conscious, screaming her name in the distance. Effie and Arthur were charging together, leaving Elise behind, intending to slam into Xander's back and strike him down. More of the line was moving, intending to save her as Scarlet had saved Ryoma, as her own little stunt had saved Scarlet. Ryoma himself, on a newly mended ankle, was starting to charge. Each of them would die, and they would be too late, and Camilla thought of the long box tied onto Marzia's back.

"I am sorry," she said, not just to Xander, but to Corrin, and Elise, and to Leo, and to her father, and Hinoka, knowing none of them would hear her. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop this."

Then, from behind the line, there was a burst of light, so bright that even at that distance she had to shield her eyes. Xander turned from her, toward the light, and there was a sound from it, the beating of mighty wings.

The light flew across the chamber, and Xander brought up his sword just before it slammed into him. A blur of motion and radiance as Xander was driven back, steel ringing on steel, and then two feet slammed hard into his face in a full-body kick. He staggered, taking several steps back, and the light touched down on the ground before him.

The radiance faded, and Corrin stood there, Howling Yato in her hand, her dragon's wings shrinking back into her shoulders. They disappeared and she stood straight, turning her body to face Xander in a fencer's position.

"Corrin!" Camilla called out to her, felt her breath catch. "My darling, you're all right!"

Effie and Arthur and Ryoma and the entire line came to a stop, staring at the woman they had thought dead only moments before. Behind them all, Azura finally got to her feet.

"Yeah!" Corrin looked over at her, grinned her too-open child's grin. "Sorry to worry all of you. I'm OK, and I'm ready to fight." Xander found his footing, and Corrin turned her attention back to him. "It's going to be all right, Xander! We're going to work together, and we're going to get you out of here. I made a promise I intend to keep."

Xander looked at her, and for a long moment he did not move, did not speak, did not seem to breathe. Confusion and fear flickered across his face in equal parts, and then rage,  _rage_ like nothing he had shown up to now, and he began to scream, a sound torn from his throat by force, a sound that split the world.

"He doesn't know you!" She tried to walk forward, found it hard, and now magic and purple fire rolled off of her elder brother in waves. "I don't know if he knows any of us any more!"

"He doesn't have to." Corrin turned back to Xander, and Camilla could not read her face. "No matter what happens, we're getting through this together. We're putting an end to this right now."

Camilla said nothing, ran to her wyvern as her beloved sister slammed into her beloved brother, as the sound of swords clashing rang out like hail on a metal roof.

* * *

Azura rose, saw Corrin fighting Xander in the distance. Shura was next to her on the floor, unmoving, and she knelt and checked his throat, his breathing—he was alive, if wounded. She kissed his temple, rose to her feet, stepped away from him.

Then she began to stamp out the rhythm. The rhythm was first.


	12. Xander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the battle ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, longer than I anticipated. Please forgive me for that, and have something nice to drink or snack on as you read.

Anankos heard the first beat, a finger tapping against the drum of creation, and it traveled along the length of his body. Water washed over him, cool and soothing, filling in the parched cracks of his mind. It was a comforting thing, a thing he did not know for what it was.

Then the first words, ringing out from every direction, carried by a voice so sweet and clear it dragged him back, back, to a different time:

 

 _You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek_  
_Life beyond the shore just out of reach,_  
_Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time_  
_The path is yours to climb._

 

"No," he said in his heart, and then he screamed the word. They had  _abandoned_ him, the song was not  _theirs_ , they could not do this to him, could not pretend to hold the key to his heart as they had done in the days when men were faithful and good. Thousands of faces, millions of faces, faces he had loved for more years than humans could reckon, they floated before him like a sea, all their joy and sadness and pain, the vast spectrum of humanity arrayed before him all at once, he had known them, he had known them and they had  _left him_ —

 

 _In the white light, a hand reaches through;_  
_A double-edged blade cuts your heart in two_  
_Waking dreams fade away,  
_Embrace the brand-new day.__

 

He had forgotten something, something old, something important, something in himself, and if they had forgotten too it was because he had forgotten  _first_. The song told him that, massaged his heart until that truth slammed into it over and over and over, in keeping with his own pulse. The words were his and the voice was theirs, and the truth it told was past all of that, past any of it. He hated them, hated them more than their thoughts had the capacity to relate, his hatred could consume worlds—and beneath that, buried under the bedrock, water ran through an aquifer, carrying the first truth, the most terrible truth, the  _why_ of his staying with humanity. The water rushed up from inside of him and found its release, rushing through his veins. He began to remember, truly remember at the very front of his thoughts, and that memory would kill him if he let it.

"Make it stop," he said, and no one heard the words, because the music drowned him out.

 

 _Sing with me a song of birthrights and love_  
_The light scatters to the sky above._  
_Dawn breaks through the gloom, white as a bone_  
_Lost in thoughts all alone._

 

"Make it stop.  _MAKE IT STOP!"_

He reached through the water and grabbed hold of his hate, the one protection he had from his loss, and drew it about himself like a cloak against rain. He screamed over and over again, and roared to drown out the words but the words would not stop coming, the memory would not stop.

" ** _MAKE IT STOP_** "

He heaved himself from the wall, writhing in the air, his twisted body no longer able to hold back the pain. He lashed his head against the ceiling, the floor, each of the walls to knock the memory from his skull. It would kill him if he did not kill them, he had to kill them, had to hold onto what he had because if he did not have his hate if it was not their fault if it was his fault if his loneliness was the one truth if the one truth was that he had done it then then then

Then the hold he had on the world around him slipped, the threads of humanity loosed from his claws. So much of his power was elsewhere, invested in someone else, that he could not draw it to himself, was left naked, vulnerable.

And he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

* * *

Corrin ducked beneath Siegfried's blade, came up with a swing of the Howling Yato, and as she swung her arms exploded into an inhuman shape, taking on the musculature of a dragon. Her dragonstone shone like a sun in that dark place, and with all the strength in her blood she slashed at Xander.

Xander brought his sword up to block, and the impact shook her body, she bit her tongue and blood was in her mouth, her teeth were surely loose now. Even this,  _even this_ wasn't strength enough to stand up to him. She looked into his face and saw him there, distant and untouchable, and she wanted to reach out to him but she did not have the  _power_ —

Then the world shook as the face at the far end of the hall careened out on a neck as big around as a house, slamming up and down at the stone that confined it, and began to scream. The scream split the mouth of the mask, for mask it was, revealing a maw that Corrin's mind refused to parse as a concrete thing. She stared at it, unable to look away, and remembered Xander too late, looking up with full expectation that she was about to die.

 

 _You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek_  
_Life beyond the shore just out of reach,_  
_Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time_  
_The path is yours to climb._

 

And he was looking too, watching the face at the end of the hall scream for the pain to stop, and the prince's face was open and shocked and tears were running down his cheeks. The fire of Anankos still burned in his eyes, but it flickered.

"What..." He reached out with his hand, as if he would touch the thing at the end of the hall. "What is happening?" He looked at her, and the fire in his eyes winked out. "Corrin?" He began to shake, as if his entire body were rebelling against itself, so badly that Siegfried danced at the end of his arm, and she thought he was having a seizure. "Corrin,  _what have I done_?" The light flared up in his eyes again, winked out, back and forth, over and over. Siegfried flared, dark fire pouring off of its blade, and Xander looked at the sword like an alien thing. "What have I done?"

And the song and the screams continued to drown out the whole world, and Corrin did not know what to do as she reached out to him.

* * *

"I won't let you, Lady Camilla."

Beruka's stance was wide, her face neutral, implacable. This was what Camilla expected from Beruka when it came to her stubbornness: that it be born of loyalty or love, that it make her want to pinch the younger woman's cheeks, that it be so perfectly serious that she was forced not to. The difference, here, was that Beruka stood between her and her wyvern, and therefore her and the weapon she had claimed in battle against a dragon. More, Beruka was holding her own axe, the same weapon she had been carrying when Camilla first saw her, a simple thing of wrought iron on a plain wooden handle, soaked in blood. Crude and inelegant, a child's axe, but more brutal in how it fit so perfectly in her favorite retainer's hand.

"Won't let me what, dear?" She was still walking toward her wyvern, ignoring the threat her retainer was trying to communicate. Marzia raised her head, watching carefully, too languid to move. Camilla did not call out to it, because even if she did not think Beruka would attack her the woman would not hesitate to kill the wyvern.

Beruka did not show her emotions on her face, even when she wanted to; it was one of the things Camilla found so charming about her. Now, though, it made her voice and her face at odds, and the effect was unnerving. "The axe almost killed you last time, and things were not this dire. You are my..." She stopped, bit down on the words, and Camilla stopped to watch her, reading her carefully. She _could_ read Beruka, even if her face was impassive. "You're too important for me to let you throw your life away. There has to be another way. We can find it together."

Azura's voice rang higher and higher behind them.

 

 _Embrace the dark you call a home,_  
_Gaze upon an empty white throne_  
_A legacy of lies,_  
_A familiar disguise._

 

"Beautiful," Camilla said, and the voice of the dragon behind them rose in another wild scream, a sound of pain that made Camilla want to drop to her knees. But she did not move, just looked at Beruka, and Beruka looked at her, past her, at Azura, at Xander, at the dragon. "Get out of my way, dear. I have the power to protect the people I love, including you, and no one is going to stop me from using it."

Beruka shook her head, squared her stance again, held her axe in both hands. She looked like the child that Camilla had taken in off of the streets, then. The princess did not have it in her to hurt her.

Physically, at least.

"Benny," she said, just loud enough to carry. Beruka's expression shifted in a barely-discernible way at the sound of heavy armor clashing against itself as the knight came at a run. He was not far, because he was never far from Beruka, now. Had he been watching?

"Yes, Lady Camilla," he said, and she decided from his tone that he  _had_ been watching, had already picked his side in this fight, and since that side had been picked by his heart he would not be gently dissuaded.

Camilla was not in a gentle mood.

"Restrain Beruka," she said. For one moment he did not move, and she looked at him. He was afraid, pained, as if she had told him to kill one of the animals he loved so much. "Must I repeat myself?"

"I... I can't," he said. He would offer no more, but his face told the story: he loved Beruka, could not hurt her, not even in this way.

"Benny. Look at me." She smiled, and saw he understood  _this_ smile, because the blood drained from his face. "If Beruka stands in my way, I will kill her. I will mourn her forever, and may take my own life when the work here is done, but if she is not removed then first I am going to kill her. I will take her axe from her and I will kill her with it, and I will do it right in front of you. Do you understand me?"

He looked at her, looked at Beruka, looked at her. He nodded.

"Benny," Beruka said, and she was pleading with him as he crossed the space between the two women. Camilla watched the axe come up, as if to ward him off, and she saw the same as Beruka: faced with death he still walked toward her, because he would rather die than fail to protect her. "Benny. Benny, please, stop." The axe dropped to the ground, and he reached out for her hand. She tried to pull away and then he pulled her against himself, her back to his front, and she began to kick as he wrapped both of his arms around her. "Benny! Stop! Let me go!"

"I'm sorry."

He lifted her into the air so that she had no leverage, her heels beating hard against his armor, and Camilla did not need to look to know their faces, know their hearts, as she walked past them.

"Benny, please,  _please!_ "

"I can't."

Camilla ran the tips of her gauntlet's fingers across the ridge of Marzia's brow, and the wyvern leaned into her touch like an enormous cat, growling a satisfied sound deep in its chest. She cooed to it, a nonsense sound like hushing a child, and it was still as she walked along its flank, climbed up onto its saddle, reached for the back of it, for the long black box that was lashed with rope that had begun to rot in answer to the power that seeped out from inside.

" _Lady Camilla!_ "

She tore the rope with her hands, then broke the latch.

* * *

He had had a dream, a terrible dream where she had died. In the grips of that dream he had fought, his limbs not his own limbs, his will not his own will. The dream had gone on for minutes, but he felt as if it had been his entire life.

Then he awoke, and Xander saw Corrin in front of him, reaching out to him with her hands, and her brow was knit with worry and he wanted to reach out and cup her face in his hands. She was alive, she was alive, she was alive, and when she grabbed his hand through his gauntlet and pulled it toward her he thought he could stay like this.

"Xander," she said, and her eyes were red and shining. "It's all right. You're going to be all right."

"I thought you were dead," he said, and his voice was raw and hoarse. Why? Had he been crying out, in his dream?

In the distance there was a sound, a voice raised in pain and the sound of rock crashing against rock, but he did not turn to look at it. He looked at her, only at her, because he might still be dreaming, and if he looked away she might be gone.

 

 _Sing with me a song of conquest and fate_  
_The black pillar cracks beneath its weight_  
_Night breaks through the day, hard as a stone_  
_Lost in thoughts all alone._

 

" ** _MAKE IT STOP!_** "

Anankos's pain echoed through him in answer to Azura's voice, truth and fear alike carried on the medium of his blood, and he gained clarity in that moment. The power welled up in him, wild and uncontrolled, Anankos's fury clawing at his muscles, daring him to take Siegfried up, to cut short the lives before him, to burn down the world, anything to bring an end to the song. He had been fighting them, hurting them, had been fighting  _her_. He had almost done it, had almost cut her down, and the proximity to the death of his soul shook him to his core.

"Corrin," he said, squeezing her hands as they held his left one. "I can't control myself. My thoughts are not my own, my will is being eroded in every second. That I can speak to you is only because of whatever is happening now, in this moment. If the singing stops Anankos's power will re-assert itself and I will be lost."

"No. Don't ask me to do what you're thinking. I won't consider it." She was a girl again, eyes clear and terrible in their willfulness. Her argument came from a place that no reason could reach. "You are fine  _now_. Now we will fight him, and we will end this, and you'll be free."

"You don't understand. At any moment I will lose myself again, and I will kill as indiscriminately as before." He had not killed yet, knew he had not, but also knew that that was only because of how magnificently his opponents had fought and supported each other. In time he would kill them all, and past them nothing would be able to stand against him.

A cloud passed over her face, and he almost wished he could take the words back. "Then... then drop Siegfried. I'll take you behind the front lines. We can figure out a way to restrain you while we fight Anankos."

"I can't," he said, and he began to shake because it was true, he was trying to let go in that moment and was not able. "I've been gripping it for days. My hand is frozen in place."  _I could not drop it anyway_ , he did not say.  _He won't let me. Even now the fire burns behind my eyes and if I stop looking at you, if I focus on anything else, I will be lost. I have moments left, heartbeats, and you won't kill me and I won't let myself hurt you—_

Siegfried was too long to hold against his heart or his ribs without shifting his grip, and he could not do that. He tilted his head back, put the blade against his neck. Her eyes widened with recognition, her mouth started to form his name, but his left hand clutched both hers so tightly she wouldn't be able to wrench them free in time to stop him, and he knew what this would do to her but he hoped she would understand.

 _For you_.

He began to push, the black blade biting into his throat, and that is when Azura's voice and Anankos's voice were drowned out by a new scream.

 _Camilla_?

The moment passed, and the fire consumed him, and once more he was lost to silence, to dream.

* * *

The fire swallowed her, the silence, and the pain was unspeakable, and she screamed to dispel the quiet, so she would not die without leaving an echo in her wake. Beruka was screaming her name, but she was past that now, past hearing anything but the song of the Bölverk, past feeling anything but the fire as it filled her, tried to roar out through her flesh, began to burn her before she had taken her first step.

How could she have believed she would carry this? What threshold of pain did she think she was prepared for? It had not been this; it could never be this. She would die here, not having lifted it out of its casing, and the last sound in her ears would be a roar.

But then a voice cut through the silence:

 

 _The path you walk on belongs to destiny, just let it flow_  
_All of your joy and your pain will fall like the tide, let it flow._

 

Camilla looked, and she saw her brother lift Siegfried's blade to his own neck. She saw Corrin struggle to free herself from his grip, to stop him. She saw the dragon, far past them, and through the pain she knew what it was she had to do.

She cried out to her brother, saw him look up, saw the silence and the fire roar back into his eyes, his pain replaced by someone else's. Saw Siegfried retreat from his throat, be brought round as he released Corrin, and Camilla took one explosive step and the axe's power was in her and the ground shattered behind her with the force of her leap. The chamber disappeared and Marzia bugled and she careened over the ground, driven by a strength not her own, and the silence was in her hands and she would take it home. The pain was everywhere, was everything, and she did not try to force it away now, held it close to herself, sank her teeth into it like a slab of raw meat, felt blood pouring down her throat and knew that it was her own.

* * *

Corrin pulled her hands out of Xander's when she heard Camilla begin to scream, reached for the Yato to knock Siegfried from his hand, to cut his hand  _off_ if that was what she had to do. She saw him turning from her, looking back toward the chamber's entrance. She drew the Yato, held it in both hands, called upon her secret strength and felt the dragon welling up inside of her.

Then Camilla was there, her hair dancing in the light of purple-tinged black fire, a cruel axe in her hands. Camilla was screaming, her skin was beginning to pucker and split, and she swung the Bölverk. Xander answered her with a dead expression but Siegfried roared in his stead, and when the weapons collided Corrin felt the force of the blow as if they had struck her together.

 

 _Life is not just filled with happiness, nor sorrow_  
_Even the thorn in your heart, in time it may become a rose._

 

She could not see the exchange of blows, the weapons flashing between the prince and princess of Nohr so quickly they defied the eye. She heard the sounds, arrows falling on a million shields, and the force of the exchange shook her bones from ten paces. She backed away from them because she physically could do nothing else, throwing up her arms to shield her face from their exchange, from the heat and fire and power they were giving off. She had never imagined anything like this, could not have conceived of it if she hadn't seen it for herself, and would have drawn little comfort from how Leo would have found the sight familiar.

When the break happened it was all at once, almost too fast to see.

Camilla failed to swing, or held back a swing, and ducked under Siegfried's blade as if she were dancing with Xander instead of fighting. She leaped past him, the Bölverk flashing, and there was a spurt of blood from Xander's ribs on his right side, beneath his sword arm. The blood boiled in the air, the shattered armor plating burning away to nothing as it left his bloody side exposed, and the princess landed on her feet as Xander screamed in pain and new fury. Camilla did not turn to face him again, was already running, and Xander wheeled with both hands on Siegfried's grip. He brought the sword high, and its black eye opened, and darkness gathered.

Marzia shrieked, and in a rush of scales and the beating of wings Camilla was gone. The spot where she had been exploded with a force that shook the walls, knocked loose bricks from the ceiling, but the wyvern climbed into the air with its mistress howling on its back.

Xander turned to follow them with his eyes, raising Siegfried again.

The dragonstone shone and Corrin leaped on inhuman legs that shifted back to her own as she slammed into his back, wrapped too-long and too-powerful arms around him. With one mighty wrench she forced his arms down, and with her dragon's strength she pinned them to his ribs, wrapping her arms around his chest, grabbing her own wrists with all the strength in her claws. He heaved, trying to free himself, and for one brief moment Corrin thought he would tear her limbs from her shoulders. Her wings exploded from her back as her diaphragm shifted to better anchor her arms, and she resisted his strength but felt the muscles tear—

And then they closed, the strength returned to them, and when Xander heaved she pinned his arms again. She looked over her shoulder.

Jakob stood there, a healing staff in his hand. He said nothing, expressed nothing, and his face betrayed nothing, but when her shoulders began to scream he waved the staff and light filled her.

" _GO!_ " She screamed at the line that stood between Azura and Xander, at all the warriors of Hoshido and Nohr. "I'll hold him! All of you, go—end this! Kill that dragon!"

* * *

Marzia flew, half fleeing from the burning magic on its back, shrieking. Anankos roared and writhed, trying to block out the words, and he did not see that there were  _two_ sources of his power outside of himself. The army surged, parting around where Corrin wrestled with Xander like water around stone, and the Crown Prince moved to strike and over and over the draconic princess pinned him again, the force of his struggles tearing her apart even as Jakob mended her wounds with his magic. Azura ran with them, her voice still raised, her song becoming something greater than herself, a power for which she was only a conduit.

In the depths of madness, from beneath the cloak of pain, Anankos heard a third voice, louder than his own, more piercing than the song. He turned his eyes away from the sea of humanity that was his memory, looked outward, and saw a great and terrible power descending on wings of leather. He knew the Bölverk by its scent if not its shape, knew how much of his power was in that axe, and realized the immediate physical danger he was in. He opened his mouth, splitting the mask which obscured his face, and breathed deep. The fires of creation churned in his belly, a crucible in which had formed souls and worlds, and when he breathed out it was with the greatest power humanity had ever had turned against it.

The wyvern dove beneath the blast, its wings singed by the passing of the ball of magic and fire and death, and he traced its course, breathing in again. Then, as the wyvern landed on the floor and shrieked at him, he noticed that its rider was not in its saddle.

He looked up to see the woman, Garon's elder daughter. She was above him and descending, her hair whipping around her like a halo, his power held in her fists, her voice raised in a scream of pain and triumph. Azura, far away, still sang.

 

 _A burdened heart sinks into the ground_  
_A veil falls away without a sound_  
_Not day nor night, wrong nor right_  
_For truth and peace you fight._

 

The Bölverk bit deep, smashing through the stone edifice of the mask, parting the flesh that waited beneath, and Anankos felt his own power flow into him, turned against him like a cancer. It was a doubling of his pain, an echo of his hate, a counterbalance to the force he would level to slay humanity, and he had never known such white-hot, searing agony in all of his long life.

He pulled back, and Camilla hit the floor, and he swung his massive head to crush her. She set her feet and swung again, and the force of the Bölverk colliding with the mask knocked his head aside. He was smashed into the opposite wall, crushing it completely in great plumes of dust and stone. Anankos and Camilla screamed together, now, each trying to drown out the other, twin cacophonies that were blended together to form the background of the song, and their harmony was its own torture.

She didn't wait, she followed up with a leap and a swing and he turned his mask into the blow so that she wouldn't cut into his throat, and there was an eruption and the mask fell in a thousand pieces. The axe rose and fell, and he swung his head up to avoid a blow, and she leaped up with the power of a dragon. He pulled back and she slammed into the ceiling, the Bölverk's power erupting from that place in a gout of purple fire. He opened his mouth in a roar, and his great eyes turned toward her all at once, and she looked at him from within the fire and the smoke. Her body was seizing, he could see that she was dying, but Anankos saw the fabric of her soul stretched out as plainly as if it were a cape and he saw  _she would kill him first, for you, darling, all for you_.

Camilla fell with the axe raised, and Anankos moved. He heaved, summoning up more of his strength than he thought he still had, and one of his arms exploded out from the wall. She didn't see it coming as his claws smashed into her as if she were an insect. She careened through the air and smashed into a wall some two hundred paces away, just out of his reach, the Bölverk dropping from her grip. Woman and axe hit the ground at the same time, separated by less than the length of their bodies, and Anankos called his power unto himself, inhaling around the terrible orb in which were set his eyes, focusing his magic for a blow that would kill her, would end that threat once and for all.

That is when a child's axe, soaked in blood, was buried in one his eyes. Anankos screeched, reared back, brought up his free arm to smash at the wings that were beating in front of his face. Lightning struck that forefoot, carrying the taste of the traitor's power, and then the sound of thunder plunged down his throat, carried on the wings of an arrow.

 

 _Sing with me a song of silence and blood_  
_The rain falls, but can't wash away the mud_  
_Within my ancient heart dwells madness and pride_  
_Can no one hear my cry?_

 

" ** _STOP SINGING_** "

But the singer was beyond his reach and he vomited his power at the holders of the Raijinto and the Fujin Yumi, who were still charging at him, unleashing their weapons as they ran. A flash as two figures, a man and a woman, crossed in front of the High Prince, throwing objects that smoked and hissed directly at the dragon's power. There was an explosion, but not the eruption of his power as it dissipated in the air, and Ryoma and Takumi charged through the smoke together, the ninjas running directly behind them.

He heaved again, pulling his other arm loose. He could not free himself, the weight of the temple was too much with the strength of his body as it was now, but he would kill these worms, pull them up and pull them to pieces, tear them to shreds so they would remember him, remember him and remember all they had lost all he had taken from them all he had thrown away all that was supposed to be his, he dug his claws into the ground and shrieked.

A woman in pink armor grabbed hold of one of his claws and  _wrenched_ and he heard more than felt the bone there pulled free from its socket, and he brought his free arm around to smash her into paste and the beating of a dozen wings caught him, riders of pegasi and wyverns piercing his left arm in six places with spears, holding it aloft by force and by heart. He turned his eyes on them and saw the eldest Hoshidan princess, her naginata held firm in her grip, red hair like the sun at dusk as she looked directly back at him. He tried to pull his arm free and could not, and she looked at him, and he screamed at her and she looked at him and the singing did not stop.

As a body they fell upon him, that mass of humanity, and from all sides he was struck by arrow and spear, fire and axe, dagger and sword. He screamed, spewing his power, but the Hosidan ninjas with rope and hook forced his head down so he vomited the fires of creation uselessly onto the floor. A fox the size of a horse clawed at his neck, and a woman whose face was a mask of disgusts too numerous to name drove a naginata into another one of his eyes. He heaved, and as a body they held him down, their power striking him over and over. The song was so beautiful, he did not want to face its beauty, did not want to face the old words for how much he loved them, how much he loved them still, and they were here now, with him, and they would kill him.

But he would not die.

He breathed deep, gathering his power into himself, drawing deep enough to kill, and then deeper still. A man with golden hair sank an axe into his right claw, and a trio who smelled of other dragons and other worlds formed a shield that his pinned claws could not reach past. He breathed deep, deep, and he loved them and hate blossomed out of it like flowers rising from the eyes of a corpse, white and perfect and terrible. His hate was a lily on top of still waters, and it blossomed, and blossomed again, its petals opening and falling in a cycle that defied belief even unto himself, his power mounted, the song kept driving spears into his thoughts, and he would kill them all at a stroke. They were all over his body, and with every blow he suffered small wounds, meaningless indignities, and he would make them meaningless because when he breathed out he would kill them all.

Anankos began to laugh.

* * *

Through the haze of pain and blood and fear Camilla pulled herself to her feet. Her body screamed with the effort, her armor and gauntlets nearly broken from the impact with the wall, her muscles bleeding from the effort demanded of them. She looked at her hands, flexed them so that the last pieces of steel snapped and dropped to the floor, corroded into uselessness by Anankos's power. From the dragon or the axe, she wondered, and then decided it didn't matter.

The Bölverk's power had not eaten at her as severely as it had the first time. Was she becoming tolerant of it? Could one's body become used to such a thing? Her hands still moved, still worked, and that was more than had been true before, even if they were bleeding and sore and not far removed from their previous condition. She could pick up the axe again, wield the power again, but if she did so now it would be for the last time, one way or the other.

Then Anankos laughed, and she looked. Nohrian and Hoshidan fought together, nearly as a single body, the heavy Nohrian troops keeping Anankos's limbs pinned while the swifter Hoshidan ones harassed him from every angle. They would kill him with a thousand cuts, but they would kill him, given time. She saw Beruka, and Benny was on her wyvern with her, and Camilla found herself glad. But the dragon was laughing, and Camilla, who knew the dragon's power as no one else save Xander could, saw the gathering of its might. They were brave, impossibly brave, and they were winning the fight, but they were not killing the dragon fast enough.

She reached to her belt, drew out a flask of liquid that smelled of corpses when she pulled the cork out. She put the elixir to her lips and drank, managing not to gag as the powerful medicine spread through her. The pain of her muscles coming back together, of bones knitting and tendons sliding back into place like fluids, would have been too extreme to bear at any other time, but the Bölverk's fire was in her memory and this pain was nothing.

Camilla's second flask shone with light that shifted, a riot of colors bleeding into and swirling around each other, and it smelled like rain. She drank that tonic, and its power flowed through her body like water in a field. It infused her thoughts, her arms, her back, her spirit, and in that moment she was stronger than she had ever been. She threw the glass aside, not hearing as it broke, not hearing anything as she reached for her axe.

The silence had engulfed her before she grabbed hold of its haft.

* * *

Power erupted in two places in the vast hall, first within Anankos's body and then in a place some two hundred paces away from him.

Azura was staggered by one and then turned in horror to the other, unsure anymore of what was happening, but she did not stop singing:

 

 _In endless dreams, countless realms collide,_  
_Hope falls only to rise like the changing tide_  
_But all dreams come to an end,_  
_Just whispers on the wind._

 

Camilla kicked hard off of the wall and was airborne, launching herself as if she were a projectile fired by a ballista. Anankos saw her coming, forgot instantly about the insects that crawled all over it, and vomited obliteration at the Nohrian princess.

The Bölverk was held in front of her, and its blade parted the vastness of Anankos's power so that it flowed around Camilla. In its passage she caught fire, her wild hair darker and dancing as the purple-tinged blackness consumed it, and her eyes burned as she catapulted through the smoke. Anankos bellowed in panic, and every Nohrian and Hoshidan eye was turned up toward her as she streaked through the air like a shooting star. None knew what they were seeing, save Beruka, who dropped Benny onto the ground and sawed at her wyvern's reins, wheeling it around and up, up, away from the battle.

Anankos roared, its jaws opened wide, its eyes all turned toward Camilla, the heart of its power thrust out in defense.

Camilla's body cracked and popped, and she could feel the fires eating away at her. Her hair was gone, and the rest of her would follow, and the pain was too much to speak to—and she drew upon that pain, drawing water up out of the well of her suffering. She poured her pain into the Bölverk, and the axe's blade began to fracture, humming with the intensity of the power it could barely contain. She flew to Anankos's face, and Anankos thrust out to meet her, and she saw the spot at which she would strike. In spite of it all, she smiled.

"Time to play," she said as blood ran from her mouth, and it was a whisper because she could no longer scream.

The Bölverk broke through the bloody place where Beruka had gouged at one of Anankos's eyes, and then, stressed beyond its means, exploded.

The sound was like dropping a book in the middle of an empty room, but bigger, ten million books in ten million rooms, the greatest rushing of air the world had ever heard. Attackers and defenders were knocked to the floor, some knocked senseless, and Anankos himself was sent careening back into the wall, his neck telescoping inward as his vertebrae were crushed together. Camilla flew again, naked and smoking, and would have become a stain at the entrance of the hall save that a wyvern, directed by a blue-haired woman, plucked her from the air.

Anankos's power hung in the air like a cloud, a black-and-purple miasma that ate at sound, at life, the unclean fallout of the Bölverk's eruption caustic to touch and to breathe. Hoshidan and Nohrian forces alike retreated as a body, the royals taking the longest as they ensured that those under their care were safely away. Last of these to retreat were Elise and Ryoma, who watched Anankos in the wall. Then Elise looked away, and saw Beruka coming back in, waving and screaming, and rode to her. Ryoma stood, and watched, and listened.

The silent dragon tried to roar and it came out as a gurgle, a sound like a wounded child that could not understand they were dying. He pulled himself out from the wall and his head lolled uselessly at the end of his neck. Ryoma watched him as he might a dying deer, waiting for the dragon to fall, to breathe its last.

But Anankos did not fall. Bone cracked and popped, and through an effort that the High Prince could not understand the dragon lifted his head into the miasma left behind by the ruined axe. Ryoma backed away, did not lower his sword.

Anankos began to breathe the fumes, and the earth shook in its horror.

* * *

There was a sound, an eruption, a cry of pain in a child's voice, and Xander was himself again. The power within him burned and guttered, and he thought that at any moment it might go out.

Arms of incredible power pinned his own to his ribs, and the pain of broken ribs and flowing blood throbbed every time he tried to move. He looked down, and the coloring of the arms and legs, the shape, was familiar, a thing that he had seen when she had fled from the castle.

"Corrin?"

Behind him, almost a sob: "Xander?" She was so tired, and he could hear it in her voice. "Xander? Are you OK?"

"Yes, little princess," he said, though the fire still burned inside of him, though he saw as Anankos began to breathe the fumes of his power, drawing them out of the air. "You can release me." She did, her arms shrinking as she did so, retracting until they were of a human shape, and he turned to face her and she slammed into him, her face pressed hard against his breastplate. Without thinking he put one arm around her, stroked her hair with the other. She smelled of books and fields and wind blowing over the mountains, as she had when he first met her.

The embrace lasted for a moment, only a moment and then she let go of him, looking to Anankos in the distance as the dragon inhaled and the miasma surged down its gullet. "What's happening?"

"That..." He licked his lips. He knew. Dare he tell her? Dare he tell her the truth?

She looked up at him with eyes that stripped him of all artifice, made him naked before her, and knew he could do nothing else.

"I think... Anankos is wounded. My father's axe, Bölverk, was broken in the act of inflicting that wound. The wound is fatal but the power of the axe has been freed, and Anankos is recalling it into himself. When he has drawn it in completely, he will be more powerful than he was before, and more dangerous."

Far away, Azura pulled herself to her feet, the notes still on her tongue. She was the first to collect herself.

He could not say what he felt when Corrin looked at the dying dragon, because he would not speak the word that her determination made him want to scream. She spoke, and she sounded so sure, as if she would know what to do regardless of his answer. "You said the wound is fatal. Will the power heal him?"

"No. He will die from it."

"Then we will pull back. We will flee from this place and wait until he has died before returning and making sure the job is done."

"There's no time. It will take him hours, days to die from that wound, and before that time is done he will unleash devastation on everything he can touch. He will shake this kingdom to pieces, bring the temple down on your heads, seize control of my body, and..." He did not continue because he could not. The power was in him, waiting to be called up, quiet now only because Anankos was focused on himself.

She would die, he knew. Anankos wanted nothing more than he wanted her death, almost as if it was in answer to Xander's heart, the last act of spite to break him. In the days it would take Anankos to die he would crush mountains to powder, burn the continent to ash, and take every human life in Nohr and Hoshido into eternal shadow. Horror unspeakable, unthinkable, and yet he looked at her and her face let him cut through the pain, the terror, the hopelessness. He knew what he had to do.

"Corrin. Do you trust me?"

How he loved her, and how he loved the way she looked at him then, unassuming and honest from a place so deep that other people could not reach so far within themselves. "Of course I do, Xander. I always have."

 

 _Sing with me one last time, for light's sacrifice,_  
_Endless dawn came but not without a price,_  
_Lost in the waves there glimmers a pale blue stone._  
_I think of you, all alone._

 

He turned from her, then, took long steps toward Anankos. She started to walk after him, and with his left hand he gestured for her to stay back, and she started to follow anyway and he heard Jakob rush up to her, grabbing hold of her, telling her to wait.

The last of the miasma disappeared down Anankos's throat, and all of his eyes opened at once. The orb that was the core of his life force had a tremendous gouge cut out of it, and that gouge bled shadow and fire and life. The dragon would die from that wound, but it would not be quick enough, and as the axe's power flowed into the dragon's body Xander felt the fire within himself flare. Anankos's voice was inside of him, crying out, and he could feel how pain and fear of death had driven the dragon over the final edge. Anankos was scared, a child lost in the woods surrounded by wolves, and Xander answered that fear by opening his heart. Before he even spoke the tremendous head turned to look at him across the distance, and all the rest of the world began to shrink away.

"Anankos! Come unto me!" He hoisted Siegfried into the air, and the black sword shook the firmament. "You are dying, but death need not take you. Enter unto me, merge your essence with mine, and you will yet live!" Corrin began to scream something behind him, but he did not let himself hear her.

" ** _LIIIAAAAR_** ," the dragon said, the word a long syllable of pain and mistrust from a child's mouth. " ** _LEEEAVE_** ** _MEEEE_**.  ** _ALWAYS LEEEEAVE._** "

"I will not leave you." He spread his arms wide. "I promise, I will _never_ leave you."

" ** _MIIIISTAAAAAKE,_** " Anankos said, and started to say the word again, but then there was a spout of blood and smoke and the dragon mewled. Anankos looked at him, then down at the body that was being eaten away by the turning of the ancient power. Fear. Fear was the strongest, in the end.

Anankos screamed, and the orb of the dragon's eyes split open completely, and a howling red light poured forth from it.

"By the blood of the dusk dragon, I will be your vessel!"

Corrin's words were whipped away on the wind, Azura's lost to his ears. The song drove the dragon's essence toward him, and it looked like a man in a red cloak. It came to him, stopping inches away, and his arms were wide, waiting, and Anankos's soul hovered there, unsure.

"By Siegfried's might," and behind him the Yato roared in Corrin's hand, writhing, infused with a new power, "I will be your tomb!"

He reached out with his left hand, which glowed with his power and the dragon's, and Anankos howled as he grabbed hold of the red soulstuff and pulled it hard against his breast. There was a pulse of awareness, his heart beating in reverse, his blood vessels burning out. Then there was silence.

And Anankos, all of him, was inside of him.

* * *

The Yato flared in her hands, giving off a light as bright as the sun, its howl tapering off into silence. Corrin did not even look at it, shrugged Jakob's hand off of her shoulder as she ran toward Xander as the Crown Prince pulled Anankos's essence inside of himself. There was a sound she didn't understand, deep and ancient, and at the rear of the hall the dragon's body slumped to the floor and burst into flames.

"Xander!" The prince flinched, turned to look over his shoulder, and the force of his eyes was a physical wall that stopped her in her tracks. They were so close. They had been so close. "Xander?"

"Corrin," he said, and his voice came from inside of a cave. He turned to face her, and the act of his turning shifted the air around him, whipping it into a maelstrom. Siegfried's glow was constant now, more terrible than ever before, as a new strength flowed through the arm that held it. "I'm sorry it came to this."

"We were so close! We were almost free of this, Xander!  _You_ were almost free. I fought all this way, I saw... I saw so much, to bring you home. Why? Gods.  _Why_?"

His left hand came up, fingers curled into claws, as if to strike at her from a distance of twenty paces—and then his arm shook, too much to be a nervous reaction, and slowly he lowered it, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"There is no time for why, little princess. He grows inside of me with every passing moment. In my body he is vulnerable, and you can kill him at a stroke."

"No," she said, and the fullness of what he was asking of her was too much to bear.

"Corrin. You must be strong now, as I taught you and you taught yourself." Siegfried began to rise, as if pulling the arm holding it along behind it. "I cannot hold him, Corrin. I can contain him, but in so doing my body is his. With every moment he gains strength and I lose it." Then he raised Siegfried, pointing its tip at her. "Do you remember what I told you, the last time we spoke?"

"No!"  _The weight of Siegfried is terrible, and moreso when wielded for a terrible purpose_. "Please, Xander, please don't make me do this!" But the Silent Yato thrummed in her hand, a living thing seeking the throes of war. She wanted to throw it away, to see it broken. Ah, gods, she would rather be dead. "Anything but this..."

Siegfried roared, and Xander pointed it skyward, and shadows leaped from it. "This body is his, Corrin!" An eruption of power at Siegfried's tip, and the song was barely audible, distant, small.

 

 _You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek_  
_Life beyond the shore just out of reach,_  
_Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time_  
_The path is yours to climb._

 

The upper half of the temple exploded skyward, bursting like a stack of child's blocks, carried upward and away by the flow of magic which issued from Siegfried, from Xander, from Anankos who sat in his breast. Corrin looked up at the open sky, at millions of tons of stone and iron spinning away into oblivion, and then across at the man who was asking her to kill him. She thought he would be afraid, afraid for his life, afraid of losing himself... but he looked at her and he looked sad, so sad.

"It has to be you, Corrin." He whispered, and it carried to her on the gale. "It can be no one else. Please set me free." Then Siegfried came down, and he gripped it in both hands, and his feet were set wide.

She understood, then, the words he had gone so long without speaking, and she saw him there, not as he looked but as he was: exhausted, dying, and on the edge of losing himself. Flora had carried her regrets into death, and Garon had been hollowed out by them for decades before death could take him. She would not let Xander suffer like that. Whatever came afterward would come. He would not suffer. He would not suffer. He would not suffer.

She lifted the Silent Yato, turned her shoulders to face him in profile, the sword's edge leading. With her free hand she wiped at her eyes.

"I will."

He charged and she met him in the center. He brought Siegfried up in an underhanded stroke, and she leaped clear over him, slashing at his shoulder as she sailed. The Silent Yato bit through his armor, earned her a spurt of blood, and then the wake of Siegfried's swipe exploded outward, a wave of force and magic that rolled out for farther than she could see, which sucked air behind it in a whirlwind, nearly pulling her in against his back. Her dragonstone shone as she landed on her feet and brought her sword down in a two-handed swipe, and he turned with unbelievable speed to catch the blade on his. He was stronger now, somehow he was even  _stronger_ , and she felt her hands break.

Then light filled her, not once but twice, and behind her she heard Jakob and Felicia calling her name as her bones knit back into shape. She did not feel the pain, now. His hand came up to strike her in the head and she spun around it, spun with her whole body as she leaped into the air, swung the Yato as she spun. She struck him on the arm he brought up to protect his face, and that arm lashed out, fingers splayed to grab hold of her. She kicked off of his shoulder and the Yato kissed his open palm, and there was another spray of crimson. The movement of his arm was heavier than she would have believed, even his hand swung with enough force to sweep her feet out from under her, but she landed in a crouch and kicked off to the left on digitigrade limbs, missing another swing from the sacred sword by millimeters. The wind of it crashed against the gathered armies of Hoshido and Nohr like a wave, their mages stepping to the front to intercept the blast, unable to do more.

She was above him, wings exploding from her back, and then she was beneath him, a push from those same wings sending her rocketing between his legs to pop up behind him as the new limbs disappeared into her shoulder. He turned, and she saw his eyes, saw the struggle there.

_Even now. Even now he protects me._

She lost herself then, lost herself to the song of metal on metal, of pain and breaking and being mended again, and he fought and she danced around him, knowing he was too slow, that he did not move with his true speed, that whatever force drove his body did not have his grace. Still every blow was a near thing, even being  _near_ him a source of its own pain,  _But how much worse does it hurt for him? How long has it hurt like this? Oh, Xander._

She read all of his movements, the way his stance opened when he swung Siegfried, the gap in his armor where Camilla had struck him. Corrin saw the blood there, the flesh that would not mend, the lingering effect of terrible magic.

Slashing at his head, she pulled back the blow so that her blade did not meet his as he came up to block. He followed through the feint, swinging the sword up, clutching it in both of his hands, and her wings exploded from her back as she lowered her body to the floor. Their eyes met. She saw herself, reflected in his gaze.

Corrin pivoted on her left foot, whirling around the blow she knew was coming, beating her wings once for greater speed, and brought the Yato up toward that yawning red gap in his armor. 

* * *

Anankos swung the sword and Xander grappled with him. On two fronts each of them fought: against Corrin, physically, and against each other, in the confines of their shared body. Anankos's skill with the sword was nothing compared to the Nohrian's, but this body knew how to fight even if the will behind it was unsure.

But Xander wrestled with Anankos at every moment, and the hall of his soul was filled with a din greater and more terrible than the hall in which they fought the girl.

The soul of a dragon was vaster and more terrible than the soul of a man, but Xander still clutched onto the silent king, pulling him down, down, into the dark.

" _RELEASE ME._ "

"You will not hurt her."

" _I WILL NOT DIE HERE._ "

"You  _will_."

Anankos heaved his massive neck and Xander's arms encircled it, pulling tight, choking him. Their body slowed, its movements sluggish as they struggled, and Corrin danced around them, quicker than he had ever known, more skilled than she had ever shown him.

There was no more begging, or pleading. The sea of faces was all around them, carried on the words of a song, and Xander plunged into humanity with Anankos, into memory deeper than a nation, into the love that a god had for his people. Xander understood as kings of the fated kingdom never had, swam in the depths of Anankos's heart, the sea of his memory—and found the world had turned that sea sour. Azura's voice assailed both of them from all sides, and it was a song of love and longing, of loneliness deferred, of pain and succor and light and dark. He had never known such a thing, could not.

" _HOW? HOW DO YOU FEEL THIS AND NOT REJECT IT? SEE THE FACES OF HUMANITY, ALL OF THEY WHO ABANDONED ME IN THEIR TIME, WHO TREATED ME LIKE REFUSE. I AM FORGOTTEN, BY ALL OF THEM. CAN'T YOU FEEL IT? CAN'T YOU FEEL HOW EMPTY IT IS? CAN'T YOU SEE IT IN THEIR FACES? HOW CAN YOU SEE THEY WHO ARE GONE, EVERYTHING THAT WAS AND NOW_ ISN'T _, AND DO ANYTHING BUT DESPAIR?"_

"I see but one face," Xander said, and he plunged his hands into the dragon's heart, and Anankos howled, and Azura's voice found them again.

 

_You are the ocean's gray waves._

 

Xander heaved, and Siegfried was lifted over their head, and Anankos screamed, not in pain but in loss. The prince shut it out, shut out everything, and in his arms he crushed the will of a mad god against himself. In the world outside, their hands opened, and Siegfried dropped to the ground, and Corrin whirled to avoid a blow that never came.

Then the Yato was there, cutting through them both, and Anankos was silent in truth.

* * *

There was no sound, then, no rush of wind or crackle of flames. Steel struck stone as Siegfried clattered to the ground, and Corrin looked.

Four inches of the Yato's blade had pierced Xander's side, aimed too high, catching on his ribs.  _Not enough. Not enough, it has to be instant, he can't suffer, I won't let him hurt_ , and she pulled on the blade, trying to force it in deeper, but it was caught on the bone and she heaved again, and again, she was sobbing and even now she wasn't strong enough, right at the end she couldn't do it, even now she failed him.

She struggled uselessly, and his arms enclosed her, wrapped around her, pulled her body against his, and she tried to pull away and his grip was too strong, too firm.

"Corrin," he said, and his voice was his own. She looked up at him, he had never seemed taller than in that moment, and she could barely see him through her tears but he was smiling, he was serene, and all the fires of the silent dragon were gone from his eyes. "It's over."

"You let me win," she said, and hid her face against his chest out of shame, and he smelled of sweat and horses and iron, the same way he had always smelled. "You protected me. You've always protected me."

"You fought beautifully," he said. "You fought... like I always knew you could."

His legs went out from under him.

* * *

Elise saw her brother collapse, saw Corrin try to support him and fail. Jakob and Felicia rushed to them, and she wanted to run there, too.

But Camilla was here, now, on death's edge, and she couldn't see through her own tears because of what the weapon had done to her sister. Sakura was on her left and another Hoshidan healer was on her right and there were more, more she wasn't paying attention to because all of them were pouring all of their strength into the fallen princess. Camilla's life was a flame that guttered in every moment, and it took every ounce of fuel in all of their bodies to keep it burning.

Sakura looked up and Elise saw that she had seen Xander too, and the Hoshidan princess's face was soaked in sweat and perfectly earnest. "I'm s-sure he'll be fine, Elise. Felicia and Jakob are two of the best healers I've ever seen. W-w-we can focus here!" She tried to smile and it was a weak, shy thing. She meant it. She believed it.

But she hadn't seen all of what Elise had, and Elise knew what she did not: it wouldn't matter if they were over there. It wouldn't matter if every healer in the world were there.

"I'm sorry, Xander." She spoke to no one, and she felt everyone looking at her, all those eyes turned to the princess who was crying like a baby, and she cared not at all. "I love you. I love you so much."

Someone touched her shoulder from her left and she shrugged it off. She put her hands back on her sister's face, and she worked.

* * *

Corrin lowered Xander to the ground, cradling his torso against her, and he was so big, even now he was so big. The Yato was still stuck in his ribs, she didn't pull it out because she knew he would bleed to death if she did, they needed a healer first.

"Hold on, Xander, just for a second. We'll get you patched up. Felicia and Jakob are right here, they can take care of you."

The prince did not look at them—his eyes stayed locked with hers, even as blood pooled in his mouth—but waved them away with his hand. "No. These wounds are the parting gift of Anankos. There will be no coming back from what was done here." He smiled up at her, and his diaphragm seized against her as he suppressed a cough. "I'm sorry."

"No. No, please, not after all of this. You can't die on me like this. Nohr needs you.  _I_ need you. Please, Xander." She lowered her head, pressed her temple to his so her mouth was against his ear and she could escape the sadness of his eyes. "Please."

With his right hand he touched her cheek, slowly pushed her head up and back, and she knew it was just so that he could look at her, see her covered in tears and snot and blood, and he stroked her cheek. His hands were so gentle. "You're stronger than I ever dreamed of, you know? You're... you're so much more than I ever hoped." He smiled again, and the crease of worry left his forehead. "I believed in you... but I couldn't have known..."

"I'm not strong," she said. "You were always there, carrying me on your shoulders. I couldn't have gotten this far without you. I couldn't have even left the fortress without you."

"Ssshhh." He wiped at her eyes with his thumb. "Ssshhh. It's all right. You'll be all right."

Even now, as he lay dying, he was trying to comfort her, and the realization that she couldn't do the same for him brought on a fresh wave of grief, and she pressed her face against his neck and her body shook for what felt like a long time. His hand was in her hair, stroking her scalp.

"I need you," she said again, as if they were magic words.

"You don't," he said, and from anyone else they would have been words of grief but he was so perfectly happy, and the tears that stood in his eyes made his smile more radiant. "I'm so proud of you, my little princess. Thank you."

"Xander..."

"Thank you for coming for me..." He let his eyes fall closed. "Thank you... for saving me." He leaned in against her, placing his hand in hers, gripping her tightly as if it were all that had ever mattered. "Thank you for... being here with me... now..."

"Xander!"

"Thank you, Corrin." His grip slacked.

" _Xander!_ "

He was silent, and still, and gone.


	13. Dusk to Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we say goodbye.

Ryoma turned the log in place using the iron poker, knocking loose embers that glowed orange and yellow and white before settling into the bed of ash and fading to a bright red. Sakura watched him, wondered at how peaceful he seemed while he did that. He had dismissed the servants that normally tended to these duties—Jakob had objected, but had eventually relented because Corrin was not actually in the room—and by all appearances had done so just to tend to the fire by himself. He put another log into the fire, turned it, and sat in the high-backed wooden chair to watch it burn. The act of feeding the fire and nurturing it was almost meditative, or seemed to be. Sakura did not understand, wondered if she would if she did as he was doing.

The glow of the hearth lent the common guest area a certain warmth it would not have had otherwise; red light and life-giving heat gave color to dark stone, cut through the bitter cold of the Nohrian air. The Nohrian climate was harsh, no less now than it had been when she had first followed Corrin over the border all those months ago, but as Sakura sat in the cushioned chair on one side of the room she could close her eyes and think of home. The snap and hiss of the flames was not a sound that she thought of as normal, but it was very comfortable.

The four royal siblings and their retinue had arrived late in the day, considerably later than Ryoma had originally intended, but their quarters had been waiting for them and the fire already roaring. They'd been given free run of the castle, assured by Leo that they would be treated as honored guests and friends, but the air of Krakenburg and the mien of its soldiery had made her nervous and Ryoma had elected for them to spend the evening in. Each of them had been brought food, opting for Nohrian cuisine even when Hoshidan food was well within the skillset of their chefs, and Sakura was still nibbling on an assortment of cheeses. An acquired taste, and the smell was repugnant, but Jakob had brought it to her with assorted fresh-sliced fruits and the tastes complemented each other very well. Her siblings had long since finished their own food, eating to sate their hunger more than anything else, and had settled into activities that suited their proclivities for the evening: Ryoma tended to the fire with a distant expression in his eyes, Hinoka was going over a checklist of things that her retainers would need to be properly cared for, and Takumi was reading a thick tome of Nohrian military history that had apparently come from Leo's personal library. Sakura thought she would have liked to read something, too, but didn't think she'd be able to read anything that had been written in Nohrian script; Nohr and Hoshido shared a common spoken language, but their written languages had never converged in the same way, and so one had to study to be able to partake in the literature of the other nation. She had never been studious in that way, not to the degree that Takumi had been. That was fine, though; the quiet, the taste of the food, the nearness and safety of her siblings was enough.

Corrin and Azura were not with them at the moment, had gone to tend to some duties related to old possessions they still had in Krakenburg, but would be returning before the evening's end. Corrin had never been given proper quarters in the castle before being sent out by the late King Garon, and Azura's rooms had long ago been converted to Elise's quarters. Sakura wondered what they could have been doing that was more urgent than spending time together, then realized they probably wanted to see what had become of their Nohrian family in their absence. She felt a pang of jealousy there, deep-seated and small. She would have tried to smother it but didn't, instead turning it over and over in her head, wondering why she felt it in the first place. The word had been her choice, not Corrin's; ever since they had returned from Valla, Corrin had stopped using the word “family” to describe the people who had raised her. She still _thought_ of them that way, and spoke so warmly about each of them, but whenever that word passed her lips she caught herself, changed the subject, shifted to another thought as smoothly as she was able (which was to say, not very). It hurt her to see her sister hurt so, the guilt she apparently carried for events that weren't her fault, but at the same time Sakura took comfort that it was most definitely her Hoshidan family—her real family, though Sakura did not like that she kept returning to that phrase in her own thoughts—that she referred to as such. Why did that make her happy, when it made Corrin so sad? Was it just that it meant Corrin wasn't likely to leave them, leave _her_? If she was honest with herself the answer was yes, and that was small and petty and selfish and even cruel but it was true and she wouldn't deny it.

A knock at the door, and all four of them looked up at once. Saizo and Kagero shifted in the shadows, just enough to remind their lords that they were present, and Ryoma answered for the group. “Come in.”

The door opened inward with a soft groan and Leo stepped through, a bottle of wine and two glasses gripped in one hand while an enormous bundle of differently-colored envelopes was tucked under his other arm. He spoke in low tones to Ryoma, high enough to be heard by Hinoka but low enough that Sakura didn't catch it. Takumi went back to the book in his lap while Sakura strained to hear, but no words drifted to her as Leo walked over to Ryoma. Some pleasantries, she guessed, inquiries about their quarters (which _were_ very nice, if strange to her taste) and the state of the food and other small things. But Ryoma's eyes darted to the papers under Leo's arms more than once, and after a minute of conversation the Nohrian prince reached over with his wine hand, pulled out one particular envelope from the bundle, and handed it over to the high prince of Hoshido. Ryoma accepted it with a nod and a word of perfunctory thanks, then turned it over in his hands as Leo walked away. Ryoma's expression was odd, thoughtful in a way Sakura wasn't used to seeing save when he was dealing with matters of state. Is that what this was?

Hinoka looked up from her own writing, and her tone was formal but warm. Sakura didn't catch all of it, but she heard Leo ask about the writing supplies, Hinoka saying that they were exactly what she needed, and would she be able to procure these supplies for her retainers, and so on. Lower tones, tones beneath her hearing, and Sakura watched as Leo pulled out an enormous envelope, almost a package, so full it had been tied shut with string in addition to sealed with wax, and passed it to the elder Hoshidan princess. Hinoka set down her writing utensils, took the package in both hands, stared at it in confusion as she set it on her lap. Past her, Ryoma was finally breaking the seal on what Sakura now assumed was a letter.

Leo stepped over from Takumi, who did not look up from his book, and Sakura winced at his rudeness.

“Enjoying that?” the Nohrian prince asked, in a tone that said he was not very interested in the answer.

“Hm.”

“I have a letter for you. From my brother.”

That made Takumi look up, eyebrows raised, head tilted. “A letter for me? From Prince Xander?”

“The very same.” He pulled it out from the stack, handed it over with crisp and impersonal movements. Takumi reached out as if the envelope might bite him, taking it gingerly in his hands, and Leo did not wait to see his reaction or to be acknowledged. He walked on, leaving the younger Hoshidan prince staring at the seal of the crown prince.

Leo made Sakura nervous, though probably not half as nervous as he made Takumi; he was given over to a different kind of studiousness, a different sort of projected _wisdom_ than any of Sakura's siblings. Ryoma was a ruler, and the hearts of the people were with him even now, weeks away from his coronation, but Leo had the air of a man who knew how to run a kingdom in ways that escaped most monarchs. He had that same air now, the analytical weighing of choices and circumstances, as he walked toward her. She set aside her food, folded her hands in her lap, wondered what he might say to her.

Then he stepped past her, walked over to another small table, set the letters down on top of it. He dragged the table over, setting it next to hers so that she could grab any of the rest of the sizable mound of correspondence if she was willing to reach over her plate of fruit and cheese. Leo stepped away again, came back with another chair, set it down across the tables from hers. They were both facing the fireplace, looking in the same direction, and she noticed that this meant that Leo would be able to see all of her siblings, too.

He took his seat, staring at the fire from their little distance, idly moved the hand holding the wine and glasses back and forth, seemingly lost in thought. She had assumed he would say something, but that silence stretched on and on, promised to stretch out into the night.

“Um.” A sound, to break the quiet, to interject something besides the pop and hiss of logs on the fire.

“Forgive me, Princess Sakura.” He didn't turn his eyes from the fire, seeming to take some comfort in it, his shoulders more relaxed now. “I have not been at ease since my brother's funeral. Camilla and I were not aware of how much of Father's work he had already taken on his shoulders, how much of the day-to-day running of the kingdom was beneath the king's notice.” He finally looked over at her, passed the wine bottle into his free hand, held up the glasses. “May I interest you in some wine to go with your meal?”

“Th-thank you, Leo, but I, um, I don't really... like... wine.” When she said his name he looked at her, eyebrows raised, as if she'd said something wrong or strange.

“So I've heard,” he said, setting one glass down on her table, beside her plate, and the other on his own, next to the letters. “Our kingdoms take pride in the different ways we let our food and drink curdle while still managing to choke it down. Cheese is an acquired taste of that kind, but wine is its own problem. Nohrian palettes have trouble dealing with Hoshidan liquor, too.” He held up his bottle, the label of which bore a crest that looked like Elise in silhouette, head tilted slightly upward. “This is a special wine. When Elise was younger she wanted to drink with us but couldn't stand the taste, and so Xander had this particular vintage made to suit her. But she... outgrew it, I suppose.” He looked at the wine, reached up with his hands, popped the cork with the fingers of his gauntlets. “Now only I drink it, because I _prefer_ the taste. It's only good for a few months out of the year, its shelf life is shorter than any other wine, but I think that makes it more precious in its own way.”

He poured in her glass, and the liquid was a dark purple, so dark it was almost black, and it left behind no residue as it swirled in the glass. He poured for himself, then, and replaced the cork, setting the bottle aside.

“It's best served chilled,” he said, almost as an afterthought, and reached over and tapped her glass lightly with a fingertip. At his touch a layer of frost spread across the exterior, not quite extending down to the stem. He tapped his own glass, chilling it, then took a drink. He sighed out through his nose, seeming to be content. “I suppose this may be the last year of this vintage, since it was produced at Xander's order. Perhaps Camilla will commission it to be carried on. Perhaps I will, since I'm the one who drinks it now. Or perhaps I'll let it slip into memory, just one more thing to let go.”

“I'm sure you'll m-make the right decision.” She didn't know what else to say. Who could speak to that? Who could pretend to understand that much importance invested in a glass of wine? She didn't drink from it, still, didn't like wine, but she took it up in her hands and smelled it. It was not a smell she expected from that sort of drink; fresh, and sweet, and a little sour, not at all a red wine sort of smell.

He said nothing else, but looked at the fire, and with his free hand he took a letter from the top of the pile and handed it to her. She tried not to seem eager as she set down her glass and took the envelope, tried to seem surprised.

And then she _was_ surprised, and not pleasantly. She looked at the wax seal, bearing the mark of the prince's crown, and it was cracked in half along its length. “This... this has been opened,” she said.

“Of course it has. I read it.”

“You did _what_?” Color rose in her cheeks, then, indignation flaring in her chest. “You read a letter meant for _me_? Why would you do that?”

He sipped again. “I have read _all_ of the letters, Lady Sakura. I found those letters in his study, not long after we said our goodbyes. My brother wrote these months ago, before he was taken by Anankos—before our little coup had been enacted, but not long before.” He leaned forward, shifted his shoulders, the cushioned back of the chair apparently not agreeing with him as he traced a finger around the rim of his glass, frost crawling down from where he touched it. He liked his drink very cold, she managed to think through her anger. “My brother was in a state where he believed he would be saving the nation by doing tremendous harm to himself and potentially to our family. I read those letters to be sure that he would not regret me giving them to you.” His eyes turned to her, then, and there was no apology there. “I cannot be sure if he meant to send them, you see.”

“But that's...” She stopped, not reaching for words to describe her indignation, as something occurred to her, looking over at Ryoma, who was running his hand through his hair while reading. “Why didn't any of my siblings say anything? Th-this kind of breach of etiquette wouldn't stand for any of them.”

“Because I resealed theirs.” He was still looking at her, watching her, that same balancing analysis carrying on from moment to moment. “I replaced the wax, pressed in my brother's seal. Reusing the original envelope, preserving his handwriting, was the only real trick. All of it was child's play.” A sip, a swallow, a sigh. “I did not do that with yours, Lady Sakura, because I don't believe he would have wanted me to. Not to yours, specifically.”

She felt her anger draining out of her, already lost, no longer holding its potency, but he didn't seem to understand that he had caused offense, or at least was ignoring that fact. “But you can't just... you know what all of the letters say. These letters are supposed to be in confidence, one soul speaking to another!”

A long pause, and his finger was still on the rim. “Would you like to know what they said?”

Of course she would. “No! How could you even ask me that? It would be like I was participating in—“

“Pardon me, Princess,” he said, and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. “In the quiet, here, listening to the fire, it is as if I am alone. As if when I speak, there will be no words that pass from me to another.”

“They _will_ pass to another!” Takumi looked up from his own letter a ways away, and she realized how loudly she had just spoken, and shrank back into her chair.

“It is as if,” he ignored her, “I speak only to the empty air.” She was about to protest, to tell him to stop this foolishness, to stop stepping all over every sense of propriety that was supposed to dictate how two people spoke to each other or passed messages or even spoke of the dead, she had never been so frustrated with a stranger before, but then on the other end of the room she saw Ryoma take his letter in his hands, fold it carefully, and put it into the fire. “The letter my brother wrote to Prince Ryoma detailed his place behind the efforts in the war on Hoshido; how he had spurred the war with his own hands, driven the King to invade across the northern borders, engineered the attack on the fort at the Bottomless Canyon. How he planned, after killing our father, to march into the very heart of Hoshido and burn it to the ground, and... other things, which I won't repeat.”

“That isn't true,” she said, and it took her a moment to realize she was whispering, that there were tears in her eyes.

“It was a complete lie.” He looked at her, stared at her, and she wished he would stop but the force of his gaze was too much to tell him to look away. “He said those things to take the guilt of the war onto his shoulders, so that when he was dead there would be no more reason for us to fight. We would execute him, or give him over to you to be executed, and there would be peace.”

She did not want to believe that that would have worked, that her brother or that anyone would have believed such a thing of a man like Xander, and she could see in Ryoma's face that he didn't believe it _now_ , but maybe belief hadn't been the point. Maybe it was just a matter of saying it, of making lies truth because that was what kings did when they had to protect the people beneath them.

“To your elder sister,” and Hinoka rose up then, taking her letters with her, and went into the adjoining chamber which served as her room, “he wrote that she would never know Corrin as she had been in childhood. To illustrate the point he told a story of when she was young—I can't remember which, because then he wrote another, and another, on and on, spinning out every tale he could think of. Two hundred pages he spent telling stories, and after reading them you might know Corrin as a child better than she knew herself. Every experience of being her family, and he tried to share them.”

“Your second brother he accused of lacking the strength to protect his family, of the integrity to protect his sister after she had come home.” Takumi's letter was on the floor next to him, crushed into a ball, and Takumi was fuming, staring at nothing. “I don't think your brother will pick up on the subtext, but the effect of it—that he should protect Corrin like blood—will be the same, if only out of spite.”

“And to me?”

Leo looked away then, drank deep, set down his empty glass, refilled it. “I won't say. You should read it for yourself. But I _will_ say that he entrusted you with all of these, too.” He pat the stack of envelopes, in total thicker than the manuscript Hinoka had carried out.

“What...?”

“Letters to Corrin.” He drank, stopped, chilled his glass, drank again. “He wrote them to her throughout his whole life, ever since she was brought to us. Every secret he ever kept, every truth his duty would not let him tell her, every pain that he held in his breast... it's all there, as naked and raw as you please. He wanted you to read them, to judge if they could be given to her, and then to deliver them if you saw fit. To Prince Ryoma he gave his legacy, to Princess Hinoka he gave his memory, to Prince Takumi he gave his duty, and to you.” He wouldn't look at her, set his glass down, stared at nothing. “To you he gave his heart. If you think she can bear his words, I urge you to pass them on to her. But if you think it would hurt her, that she would find only pain in the voice of a dead man.” He waved his hand in the direction of the fire.

“Why me?”

“The same reason I'm telling you the truth, Lady Sakura, the same reason he lied to all of your siblings but not to you, and the same reason I left your seal broken. Because in you he saw a kindred spirit.”

“We'd never spoken before.” Not even that day on the northern border, when all the bloodshed began in earnest.

“No... but his intelligence network was impressive, even compared to mine. He knew _enough_ about you. I can't speak as to why, exactly, but... I think if you had been born first in your family, if you had been subjected to the same expectations of court and crown, then you would have been a ruler very much like my brother.” He stopped. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. “I wonder how differently things might have gone.”

She looked at the envelope in her hands, the broken wax seal, and turned it over. Her name was written there, but not in Nohrian script. She raised her eyebrows, looked to Leo—and he was on his feet, taking his glass, leaving the bottle.

“He knew you can't read in Nohrian very well. If you want to read those letters to Corrin you'll need to brush up a bit, but for your letter... the sword was only ever his second discipline. His first was penmanship. I've been told his calligraphy was very good.” He nodded to her. “Goodnight, Princess Sakura. Please excuse me. Perhaps I will see you at the coronation tomorrow.” In the end he would not, but neither knew that.

Then he walked. Takumi snarled at him on the way out, and Ryoma said nothing but looked at his back as he passed through the door. Then it shut, and he was gone.

It took a long time for Sakura to take her letter out of its envelope, and another long time before she unfolded it. The rumors were true: Xander's calligraphy was exquisite, every stroke emotive and meaningful and precise.

She began to read, and reached over, picking up her still-frosted glass. Without thinking she sipped from it, flinched in surprise, then sipped again, much deeper this time.

“Oh,” she said to no one. “Grape juice.”

* * *

Every person in Windmire had gathered outside of the high walls of Krakenburg, a teeming mass of humanity that packed full the wide road leading up to the castle, and then further back. There were no room for stalls, though people were selling food, and there was barely room for anything else. Takumi had never seen so many people gathered together so tightly for any one thing. Would the people of Hoshido turn out in such numbers when Ryoma was crowned? He wanted to think so, but had trouble imagining what that would look like. The press of the bodies, the up-turned eyes, the heat, the  _smell_ , was so much more than what he was used to. He and his siblings—he caught himself using the word when he thought of Corrin and Azura, found he didn't mind—were standing on a balcony overlooking the courtyard and dais where the coronation would be taking place, and that was the only reason the people beneath him didn't bother him even more.

But there was work to be done in Hoshido, still. Castle Shirasagi was better-defended now than it had been in a long time, but it needed its protectors there. Everyone was so convinced that there were no more threats to be wary of, but Takumi knew better; he knew that time was never a luxury they could afford.

"Remind me why we're here again," he said.

Ryoma looked over at him, and the lines of his older brother's face looked odd out of his armor, which he had worn nonstop for so many months. Ryoma, like the rest of the family, was dressed formally and brightly, the colors of their kimono reflecting their better moods. In spite of the finery and the mood suggested by it, Ryoma's expression of reproach still hit like a stone to the head.

"We are here as a gesture of good faith and friendship," Ryoma said, turning his attention back toward the dais. "Our presence is meant to signify that there is no ill will between our kingdoms, and that in the washing away of old blood we might find some new peace."

"And," Hinoka said, "we're also hoping that our Nohrian allies might repay the favor when Ryoma is crowned!"

"I-I thought they'd already said they were coming." Sakura's eyes were red, her face blotchy as if she had been crying for hours the night before and not quite gotten over it, but she wouldn't say anything about it when pressed.

"They have." Azura's eyes were locked, not on the dais but on the doorway behind it. "Leo and Camilla won't miss an opportunity to promote peace between the kingdoms, and I don't think Elise could be kept away from Corrin for too long no matter what anyone said."

"She's coming!" Corrin's eyes were wide, and it was plain she was resisting the urge to point. "Look, there she is!"

They all watched as Camilla stepped out from the shadows of the doorway. In spite of himself, Takumi was arrested, his breath caught in his throat.

At that distance he could not see her face very well, but she had set aside the iron-wrought mask she had taken to wearing over her scars. Her hair had grown back, though it was short still even for a man's cut, nothing like the cascading locks she had carefully cultivated before. Her own armor had been set aside, and now she wore a formal black military ensemble, not unlike her later father or brother's save that it had been made to her proportions. Camilla was as tall as Ryoma, but in that armor she looked bigger, somehow, filling the space around her with a sense of presence that was hard to quantify. She wore the cape of her station, black felt trimmed in ermine, the collar so high it would obscure her face from behind.

"Gods," he said.

"She cuts quite the figure," Azura said, and he didn't need to say how big an understatement he thought  _that_ was.

Some priest or other was behind her, stepped to the dais, said some words about the lineage of the dusk dragon, but Takumi heard none of that. He watched Camilla, his archer's eye taking in details others might not notice: how her smile did not waver but her eyes went over the crowd over and over, taking in the sea of humanity beneath her. In spite of her ensemble, in spite of the high-pointed black crown that the priest set on her head, in spite of everything about her station and her scars and the circumstances of her coming to power, she looked at those people like a mother looking at her children. It made his chest hurt, and he reached up to feel if the pain was physical.

Finally she stepped up to the dais, and the people roared for their queen, and she basked in the sound for one moment before raising her hands. The roar died away almost instantly.

"My people," she said, and the roar was back, as if the entire crowd was a single animal calling out to her, shaking the stone on which Takumi stood. "My people, beloved children of Nohr, thank you for joining me today. Thank you for joining me to commemorate the passing of the Crown of the Dusk Dragon, and to celebrate the end of the decades-long war between Nohr and Hoshido.  Each of us has suffered for the sake of this war, and each of us has lost to it, in security or blood or the faith of our hearts."

She went on, but Takumi was not really listening. It wasn't that it was a bad speech—a bit overwrought, maybe, but what new queen wouldn't be a little overwrought when speaking to her people for the first time? The words she spoke about the ravages of war, about the shackling of Nohrian satellite states and the strained relationship between Nohr and Hoshido causing more hunger than could be allowed, were certainly true. He didn't disagree with her; he just knew what she was going to say before she said it, expected the words of her, was too arrested in watching her. For the first time since her elder brother's death she was wearing Siegfried at her hip, its scabbard bouncing off of her thigh every time she shifted her weight. The blade was so heavy that it was denting the armor there, even though the plate had been reinforced for that exact purpose.

Months ago, even weeks ago he would have preferred to believe that this speech was just the honeyed words of a beast seeking to return to the good graces of its populace. That wasn't true, had probably never been true of Camilla or any of her siblings, but he in no way regretted the thought. Some twinge of discontent, of fear, still tugged at his chest at the way she gestured with her hands as she spoke, at the affection she used for people she'd never met. It was genuine, as near as he could tell, but how  _could_ it be? No one's capacity for that was bottomless.

He shook himself back to awareness as her body language became more reserved. It was ending.

"...And in honoring our brothers and sisters in the many other cultures contained in Nohr's borders, in negotiating new trade with our neighbors in Hoshido, we will open new opportunities for every citizen to have a better life. It will be hard, and it will take time, but no longer will any advantaged people prosper from the suffering of others. No one shall grow fat while even the poorest child goes hungry, and none of Nohr's people shall have reason to fear her attentions. Together we will work toward a brighter tomorrow. I cannot promise you eternal peace, or eternal plenty, but I promise you this: between our nation and the ravages of war, I will stand. Between the citizens of Nohr and the specter of hunger, I will stand. Between you and fear, my darling people, I will stand." Their voices began to rise and she raised a hand and they were quiet. "Save your jubilation for the ninth bell, when we will feast as one family. May the gods light our path through the future. I love you all."

They did not save their jubilation; their voices shook the world as Camilla turned away from the dais, and shouts of adoration for their new queen nearly deafened Takumi as she stepped back into the shadows of the castle.

"A good speech," Ryoma said, smiling faintly.

"I thought it was a little... scary," Sakura said. "Sh-she's so  _intense_."

"She's definitely that," Hinoka said. "No less than her elder brother. She'll be a strong queen."

Corrin said nothing, wiped at her eyes, and for one long moment Takumi thought about putting an arm around her shoulder but then Azura moved in and did it instead. Ah, well.

"Big brother." Ryoma nodded to him. "Do you think she's serious, about opening up trade with Hoshido? About making it as fair and even as possible, after all these years?"

"I think that Queen Camilla is more serious about feeding her people without bloodshed than any other monarch I've ever heard of," Ryoma said, and now he winced, almost in pain. Hours before the coronation, Ryoma and Yukimura had been at the negotiating table with Camilla, who had been advised by her brother. Ryoma was a forceful personality, and Yukimura was a shrewd and clever man, but if Camilla and Leo negotiated like their personalities suggested they would, Takumi felt bad for his older brother and his adviser. "The agreements we came to will form the guidelines for later, more specific trade negotiations, but based on the time I've spent speaking to her as heads of state, yes. She is very serious."

"I should hope I would be, dear." Takumi flinched as the Nohrian queen loomed from the shadows of the balcony, stepping among them. Gods, how did she move that fast? She had even _changed_ , putting aside the ceremonial armor of the monarch for her more familiar ensemble, though Siegfried was still at her hip. "Did you see me, Corrin? Did I sound appropriately regal, sweetheart?"

"You sounded amazing, Camilla!" Corrin embraced the queen, stood on her toes to kiss the other woman, who seemed taken aback and very pleased. "Listening to you, I believe you'll be able to heal the country. You're going to fix everything that's been wrong here for so long."

"Love cannot make land arable, my sweet girl, but I suppose I can try." She looked to Ryoma, then. "You are certain you need to go now? The roads are much safer than they were during the war, but if you wanted to wait until tomorrow I would happily give you an honor guard to escort you to the border."

"I'm afraid we must, Queen Camilla," and Takumi found himself actually relieved. He was nervous. Why the Hell was he so nervous, bad enough to make him glad to be out of this kingdom? "There are still many matters to attend to at Castle Shirasagi before I assume the crown. I pray that this does not offend."

"Of course not," Camilla said, and then she turned and looked at Takumi and he could feel heat rising in his chest. The Bölverk's powers had nearly torn her apart, and the scarring on her face was not superficial, forming canyons of deep puckered scar tissue that criss-crossed her previously immaculate features, but it had not robbed her of her beauty, just framed it in a different way. Her eyes were warm, and inviting, and as she smiled at him there was a quality he couldn't name, a sensuality that reached inside of his chest and  _squeezed_ , making him both afraid and very, very curious. She reached out with one mailed hand, cupped his cheek. "Need  _all_ of you go, though? A queen needs a consort, after all."

He felt the color rise in his face as his brain promptly stopped working. His mouth, confident he'd have something witty to say, did not stop in kind. "I don't. Uhm. I."

She laughed, stroking his cheek gently before withdrawing her hand. "I'm only kidding, Prince Takumi. That sort of talk can wait until a little later, I should hope. Perhaps I can give you some pointers on how to treat a Nohrian bride." This to Ryoma, and color rose in his face too, and Sakura was hiding behind her hands while peeking between her fingers, and Takumi was too distracted to wonder what all of  _that_ meant.

"Camilla." Corrin stepped toward the queen again, looking up at her with familiarity and nervous trepidation. "We don't... we  _don't_ all have to go. I could stay, for a little while, and at least help out Elise and Leo with the feast tonight. I'm sure it would be all right if I caught up with everyone else tomorrow morning."

"Oh, my darling." Camilla placed a hand on Corrin's shoulder, and toward anyone else it would have been very intimate but with Corrin he could feel the distance between the two women. The younger woman looked at the queen's hand, then at the queen herself. "I will take care of the feast. Listen to me: I promise you that as long as I live, as long as Leo and Elise live, as long as Xander's memory patrols these halls and stories are told of what you've done for us, you will have a place here." Camilla smiled, but it was not maternal, and it was not intimate; it was sad, sadder than Sakura's red-rimmed eyes. "But for right now... go home, Corrin. Go, with your family."

She said nothing else. She kissed Corrin's forehead, turned, disappeared back into the castle, leaving a quiet in her wake. The sharpness of it shook Takumi out of his mood, and he saw how Corrin looked at the floor, at her hands, was trying desperately not to cry. Words written in precise lettering flashed through his mind, and he would deny them.

He stepped over to her, put an arm around her. She embraced him, put her face against his shoulder, and he stroked her back as her body shook.

* * *

They left as a train, with Corrin and her retainers bringing up the rear, and Leo watched them from one of Windmire's guard towers. The road before them was open, and his informants told him there were no bandits for the long stretch between Krakenburg and the northern border. Niles and Odin were at his back, waiting, watching, but right now they had the grace to say nothing. The woman he had called sister was leaving, and Leo had not gone down to say goodbye.

Elise had, and her relentless affection had been so intense that Corrin hadn't been able to cry, or even to be sad. He hadn't been present to hear what Elise had said, but knew her well enough to guess: she would come visit as soon as possible, and she'd bring the whole family with her. She'd forgotten that they  _would_ visit for Prince Ryoma's coronation, but that was all right. Let her have her excitement.

Leo had decided that in a year's time, once she had gotten used to traveling back and forth between the two nations, he would suggest that Elise would be a perfect ambassador to Hoshido. Camilla would agree with little convincing, and Elise would jump at the opportunity to have two homes. If anyone's heart had the capacity to encompass two nations in truth, it was hers. He had spent days already going over possible designs for a teleporter ring, drawing on the considerable power of the wearer instead of an inherent magical charge, that would allow Elise to move instantly between the two countries. In theory it would work, and it would make Elise very happy, and it would leave Castle Krakenburg just that much emptier.

He hadn't gone down to say goodbye, and was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that it was for his well-being as much as Corrin's. Even seeing her from this high up, just one white-armored figure riding on a white horse, made him want to ask her to stay, to argue with Camilla that this was her home, would always be her home.

But she had chosen her home. He wiped at his eyes, thinking of that, and was grateful that his retainers either didn't notice or had developed enough discretion to say nothing.

The train rode down the road, shrinking until they were nearly gone, and he stood and watched in silence. It was better this way, he tried to tell himself. Let it be without goodbyes. They would meet again. There was no  _need_ to have farewells.

Far away, a white-clad figure on a white horse rose in the saddle, and he thought perhaps she turned.

Like a child, without thinking, he raised his hand and he waved.

Like a child she waved back, and he thought of those times he had ridden away from the Northern Fortress, when she would wave to them from the highest tower, calling out her goodbyes in a voice that was carried into the mountains by the wind. How lonely the view from so high, he thought.

Then the company rounded a hill, and she was gone. He lowered his arm, breathed out slowly, found he was at peace.

"Lord Leo," Niles said behind him. "It's getting late. The feast is in a few hours."

"A feast  _most momentous_ , for no other coronation celebration has been graced by the—"

Leo held up his hand. "Not right now, Odin. Please."

"But my Lord, I..." He sighed. "You've got it, Lord Leo."

"Thank you." He turned back to them, to his retainers, and tried to take them in as they really were, at Odin's beaming pleasure at being there and at the heavy concern in Niles's eye. "Come on, then. All that food isn't going to monitor itself. I trust the two of you will aid me in serving our many guests."

"Assuming we can keep the best bits for ourselves," Niles said, grinning wide.

Odin's grin didn't quite match, but it made him seem younger. "Seriously. Seems like we only ever get scraps at these things."

"We'll see. Our queen did say no one would go hungry, didn't she?" He led them down from the tower, back into the heart of the castle. Soon, the moon would begin to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the end of this story. It has been a pleasure to write it, and I hope that it has been a pleasure to read, too.
> 
> Originally Coming Home was supposed to end at chapter 3, or some point around there; the entire genesis of the work was the interrogation scene, where Xander is interviewing the captured Corrin. I wrote this for someone very dear to me, with the express intent of getting to that one interaction, and thought that there wouldn't be much more to say after that. But as I got further along and more details sort of unfolded about the scenario, it occurred to me that there was an opportunity here, a chance to make something larger and hopefully more impactful. I don't know that the story ever had another sequence as focused as the first conversation between Corrin and Xander, and looking back it's definitely the fulcrum on which the story turns, but everything that came after it has its own charm and its own strengths.
> 
> This is the largest fanwork that I have ever written to completion; it's not as goliath or impressive as some that are out there, but I think it says enough and covers a lot of ground for its size, so I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. The person it was originally written for had a couple of good cries over it, so I'm happy about that too.
> 
> I want to thank you for coming to the end with me. My thanks for every person who read the story, and again for every person who left one of the many thoughtful comments that let me know where I was on the right track and where the course could stand correcting. My thanks for every criticism, every compliment, and every time you liked this story enough to want to show it to someone else. Every question asked about motivation and sense of place, every pointing out of details that I might not have noticed, _every single word written or spoken_ helped to bring this work to its conclusion. Thank you, thank you, each of you and every one of you thank you.
> 
> And thank you to my One Reader, for whom I ultimately write all things. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Part of me wants to take a break, but I don't think I'm going to. I have a few ideas spinning for what might follow this—a series of drabbles that are basically the contents of Xander's letters to Corrin, perhaps? The story of the Awakening kids leaving the service of their lords after Camilla has become queen? An unrelated tale, dealing with a more canonical take on one of the paths of Fates? We'll see. 
> 
> One thing I would like to say is that as of right now, to get myself out of my comfort zone and to knock some inevitable rust off, I will be taking a couple of small requests to give me an idea of what to write next. It will only be two or three requests, and the stories will have to be short, but I enjoy writing for other people and would be more than happy to write for one of you who has come to the end of this story with me. If you're interested in one of my request slots, just send me a message on FF.net or tumblr; you can find my tags on those sites in my profile. We'll work something out.
> 
> That's it, that's all. Goodnight, goodnight, and thank you.


End file.
